Love Game
by Gilmoregirl19
Summary: Logan Huntzberger meets a mysterious society girl on a flight to New York. A complicated Love Game follows, filled with high drama, mystery and, if they can figure it out: love! ROGAN. Starts out Logan-centric. AU.
1. Round One: Last Name

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I know I shouldn't be posting a new story, but I can't help it. Today is my birthday and to honor that fact I've decided to post a story that has been on my computer for a while. As the total girly-girl I am, I think it would be insanely romantic to meet the love of my life on an airplane. So, I've always wanted to use that in a story. I've also wanted to write a more Logan-central story for a while, though I might do a Rory's POV, too, depending on your collective input. Keep in mind, even though both from Society, Logan & Rory have never met before. I'm excited about this one. Let me know if you are, too. Please, please please review!

**Love,**

**Gilmoregirl19**

**PS: I do not own GG.**

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**Round One: Last Name **

Logan Huntzberger resentfully took a sip of his complementary business class champagne. He absolutely hated flying commercially; after all, he had the entire Huntzberger Jet Fleet at his convenience. Not only was he flying commercial, he was flying _business_ class since his father's secretary, Marci had let him know that there were not any first class tickets available due to the unfortunate timing of this trip.

Logan was wise enough not to argue with his father. Mitchum Huntzberger was all business all the time and the short itinerary conformation Logan had received from Marci did nothing to take away from that carefully crafted image. It was also Marci that had called him at three o'clock in the morning to inform him that his father's dearest friend had passed and that Logan's presence was required at the funeral.

In this case, it was faster for him to take the British Airways' morning flight out of Heathrow to JFK and be chauffeured up to Hartford, Connecticut. Logan himself had never met the deceased as Logan was practically British after spending most of his school years in the U.K. in the relative seclusion of private school and prestigious university.

Apart from a rare summer or odd Christmas spent in Hartford, Logan never returned to his family's home. Frankly, it wasn't his home. His parents never took the time to get to know him. He'd much rather spend time with his friends, though he never fully embraced the playboy persona fitting of an heir.

His lifestyle was a paradox. He hated everything Society stood for, but at the same time, he knew he couldn't do without. He had money and with that everything at his finger tips. He frequented exclusive clubs and easily dropped a few thousand dollars on drinks for the evening. He couldn't live without his new I-Phone or the latest sports car. He travelled the world, stayed in exclusive hotels and dated as extravagantly as the social blogs described in great detail.

In the United Kingdom he had managed to stay somewhat under the radar, with his group of American Socialites, as the UK actually had legitimate royalty to scrutinize. Logan knew that if he had been raised in the United States his playboy ways would be much more pronounced. He was grateful since it was an internal battle he constantly fought. What did he do to deserve this life?

Another thought that crossed Logan's mind daily was his pending return to the homeland. It was going to happen one day as he lived a predetermined fate. One day, he would take over his rightful position as the King of All Media. He had hoped to stay away as long as possible, but after an unfortunate prank gone too far his father had decided that the time had come to start his official grooming. All it took was a brief phone call and a courier with several business documents to mark the first steps in Logan's return to reality. At the ripe old age of 23 Logan Huntzberger had gained control of the London Publication.

Granted, it was a very small slice of the Huntzberger Pie. Barely a sliver, really, but Logan had never felt comfortable with it. He knew countless people that hoped to have their own sliver of Huntzberger fame and fortune and he got his handed to him on a platter, simply because he had taken his mischievous a step too far. To top it off, writing and journalism weren't his passion. He didn't know what it was, either, because he had never put any energy into finding out what his true passion was. He knew it would be futile.

He had always imagined that his return to Hartford would be under pleasant circumstances, like his father finally green-lighting Logan's idea to have Huntzberger Publishing branch out into the music industry. But, no, the death of his father's dearest friend marked his return. Flying business class, sipping champagne from a plastic flute. He hated the fact that his father was using his friend's death as a publicity stunt, but what did he expect? He knew that this was how Society operated.

A beautiful girl entered the airplane, dragging him from his melancholy thoughts and self-pity.

'Ew,' the girl said in a tone that Logan immediately recognized as American Society, 'Really, if you can't afford to fly first, why fly at all?'

Logan laughed silently. This girl had a point. It was apparent she was from Society. If her stance didn't give her away, her Gucci sunglasses and baby pink Birkin bag sure did. Her tone and the bug-eye sunglasses covering her porcelain face weren't exactly a turn-on, but Logan was intrigued as to why such a stunning creature of Society would end up flying _business class_ like him.

Besides, he liked meeting new people up to a certain point. He had no desire to mingle with the ladies in coach or even in business class, really. He had a strict policy, which meant he only 'dated' women of his standard. It was shallow, but the only way to ensure these women weren't complete gold diggers and ensured he had some common ground with the fairer sex for the post-sex chitchat.

This new girl definitely met his standards and he decided that she'd be his perfect match, at least for the duration of the 7-hour flight to JFK.

Logan took a sip of his cheap champagne and kept his eyes firmly locked on the Society Creature. He noticed her tone changed as she continued talking quietly into her cell-phone.

'I know, Mom,' she spoke in a much softer tone, 'I'm on my way. No, no, it's fine. The jet… it's not important. I just need to get home, okay? Yeah, I will. Love you,' she stopped directly before Logan as she ended the phone call.

'Excuse me,' she spoke softly, almost sadly, 'I'm 6B.'

The young Huntzberger let his eyes linger on her face for a moment, wanting to see behind her sunglasses. He immediately sensed that this girl was not the Society Queen her airplane entrance made her out to be. He knew she had to be a beautiful girl. Her hair was tied up in a bun, her skin flawlessly pale and her lips slightly pink lipstick stained. She was wearing loose fitting jeans and layered a pink and white long sleeve shirt, complementing her pale pink Birkin tote. She was wearing black ballerina flats, which matched the black coat she hung over her right arm.

'Logan,' the young Huntzberger said cockily as he extended his hand, shaking hers briefly before gallantly getting up and letting the mysterious girl sit down.

She didn't speak, but granted him a tiny smile. He watched in amazement as she sat down, immediately traded her ballet flats for fuzzy socks, which she pulled out of her expensive designer handbag. She undid her bun, switched off and tossed her cell in the bag, pulled out her I-Pod, but leaving on her shades and fastening her seat belt. Rarely, if ever, did a girl fail to melt at the schmoozing power bestowed upon the young Logan Huntzberger. He didn't know what to make of this situation, so he silently took his place next to Mystery Girl again.

'Champagne,' she mumbled softly, after a few moments of silence. She raised her hand in an attempt to attract the attention of the flight attendant, but it was useless. The mid-twenty British bubblegum blonde was flirting with a Suit from California.

'Excuse me, Miss,' Logan spoke in a silky smooth tone in the general direction of the flight attendant and smiled inwardly, knowing that his charm wasn't on the fritz as the Blonde immediately dropped the Suit and sashayed over to him.

'How can I be of assistance?' she said making this simple query into one of questionable nature.

Logan ignored the flight attendant's attempt at flirting, and gestured to his seatmate. He had sensed the desperation for alcohol in her tone - a feeling he was all too familiar with - but he thought it would be too forward to go ahead an order her drink.

'I'd like a few glasses of champagne please,' the girl ordered without shame, causing Logan to smirk.

"Ma'am," the flight attendant said curtly, "You are only to have one drink at a time." She didn't hear the exasperated, society sigh the girl let out as she had her attention focused on Logan, "Would you like anything, sir?"

He groaned inwardly. Regulations on complimentary drinks, the snippy attitude of the flight attendant, the not-so-subtle flirting. He could have sworn he saw Mystery Girl smirk at him.

"Aren't the drinks on this flight and in this class complimentary?' he looked up at the flight attendant. She was startled by his suddenly icy tone. "This it is not your place to question how many of said beverages we wish to consume, as long as we are not a nuisance to this flight!"

Logan's firm tone sparked life into the flight attendant as she instantly made her apologies and ran off to fetch more than a few plastic flutes of champagne.

"Thank-you," the mystery girl said suddenly, turning to Logan.

"No problem," he sighed, breathing out his frustration and making room for things of a more important nature.

"I'm Rory," Mystery Girl said, removing her fashionable bug-eye glasses, "And you do a dead-on impression of my Grandmother."

Logan smiled and nodded knowingly. He too had a Grandmother, one who talked in a similar fashion. He noticed a slight sadness in her big blue eyes, but decided not to ask about the matter. This girl, Rory, was his in-flight entertainment and by her saddened eyes, he knew she was definitely in need of cheering up.

He would see how far he could take her during this flight and planned to drop her as soon as the plane hit the tarmac. If he was really into it he would see her to the town car he knew was waiting on this Society Princess to whisk her away to whatever brought her to America. He wondered if it was for business or pleasure, a quick visit or if she was heading home after a trip.

The flight attendant arrived with four champagne flutes and a box of chocolate covered strawberries.

"Our compliments," the flight attendant said stoically before turning on her heel, leaving the pair alone.

Smiling, Rory took a bite of her strawberry before downing her champagne in one sip. "She must have checked out last names,"

He shot her a bemused look.

"What?" she shrugged, "You've never seen a girl drink champagne before? I told you I hated flying." She took another strawberry, "And I don't know what your last name is, but you know it's true."

At this, Logan let out a genuine laugh. He was impressed. Impressed that the girl seemingly had a hearty appetite for the beverages he so dearly loved and impressed that she clearly knew the Society game. And, judging by her tone, she felt the same way about it as he did. He instantly felt a wave of attraction.

He proceeded to take a strawberry from the tray, and a champagne flute.

"Well," he said, as he clinked his glass to hers, "To our last names."

"To our last names," she agreed, shooting him a flirtatious smile.

Logan shot her a devilish smirk. Game on.

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_So? And don't worry. The Not So Simple Life & New York Night WILL be updated SOON! _


	2. Round Two: Getting to Know You

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Wow! Wow! Wow! Thank-you so much! The response to this has been overwhelming! I'm stoked you love Logan and my newest take on high society Rory. I'm off next week so expect all my other stories to be updated then. But for now, I leave you with the latest installment of Love Game. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: I do not own GG. **

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"Thank-you, Miss,' Logan said sweetly as the flight attendant cleared their empty champagne flutes and the empty box of chocolate covered strawberries. He shot her a cocky smile, which Rory caught, as he let his eyes linger on the flight attendant's rear-end slightly longer than appropriate before shifting his gaze back to Rory. The boy had standards, but he did not follow a strict policy when it came to looking.

'Mean,' Rory mumbled under her breath as she shook her head slightly.

'What?' Logan wanted to know.

Rory remained silent, as she grabbed her Birkin once again. She rummaged through it and pulled out a nail file. She held it above her head, triumphantly. 'Found it,' she smiled, before skillfully filing her pinky nail for a few moments, before moving on to her ring finger.

'What?' Logan said, slightly irritated. He had been sitting next to this girl for fifteen minutes or so, waiting at the gate at Heathrow Airport for the plane to fill-up and depart. Normally, he could read a girl instantly. Not that it was hard, since most girls were with him for one thing. And, let it be known, Logan Huntzberger had fine-tuned radar for detecting that.

This girl, Rory, was proving hard to read, though. He thought she was gorgeous, but he hated not being able to read her. She had acted flirty during their just-consumed drinks, bonding over their shared hatred of regulated complimentary libations and hinting at joining the mile high club. He had thought that he had detected a similar disgust for the Upper Crust. And now, here she was, making off-hand comments and filing her nails, effectively ignoring him. Women did not ignore Logan Huntzberger!

'Sorry?' Rory said innocently, shooting him a soft smile.

Her smile captivated him and he instantly scolded himself. He hated that women held such power over men, what with their smiles and innocent doe-eyes. Weren't men supposed to be the stronger sex?

'You called me mean,' he said in charming mock-hurt, hoping to make up for the noticeable irritability in his tone before.

'Oh,' she shrugged and continued unfazed, 'That's because you are…'

She let out a tiny laugh as she caught the baffled look on the young man's face. She leaned in slightly and patronizingly patted him on the knee: '…for giving Miss Stacey O'Air false hope,' she clarified, before returning back to her nails.

'What?' he asked again, unsure whether this was some part of her plan – if she was interested that is – or if she was just a busy body. God, why was she so hard to read?

Rory stopped filing to face Logan. 'Or were you honestly planning to take Stacey home to the family?'

He involuntarily smirked at her. He should have been pissed, to say the least, since he certainly did not appreciate this type of forwardness. But, for some reason, he liked the way this girl's brain worked. He could tell that there was no bull-shitting her. However, Logan noted, that this would make his mission much more difficult. He would need to turn up the charm, but then again, this girl was already talking family and the plane hadn't even made its way down the runway...

'What makes you think I don't have a family of my own? A pretty wife, a couple of kids?' he smirked, testing her.

'Oh, come on,' she exclaimed, 'Look at you!'

'So you've looked at me?' Logan asked, raising his eyebrow suggestively, 'Like what you see?'

Rory blushed and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was about to say something, but only managed a mere roll of the eye.

'I'll take that as a yes,' Logan laughed wholeheartedly, but he realized he was embarrassing her. He stopped and leaned in closer to her. 'Don't worry,' he said, 'It's definitely mutual.'

Instead of this prompting the spontaneous flirtatious reaction Logan anticipated, Rory continued to blush a deeper shade of red and squirm even more in her seat. Logan was confused - talk about mixed signals she was giving off! If this had been in a typical situation - a snowy chalet or five-star beachfront resort – he would have walked away from the peculiar girl and pounced on another prospect. But, in light of the looming fight he decided she would still be worth his while. Besides, there was something about her eyes.

'Okay,' Logan chuckled pulling away, 'Way to blow a man's ego.' He nonchalantly picked up the copy of the in-flight magazine he had been pretending to read as Rory boarded the plane. She remained silent, ignoring him but after a few moments, he felt her eyes watching him. He put down the magazine and looked at her, meeting her once-again saddened eyes.

'Sorry,' she mumbled, 'I…'

'Hey, it's cool…' he interjected instantly, fearing she would ramble-off into a long story about her ex-lover, an heir such as himself and that's why she had it out for all men, or that her beloved pet guinea pig died two weeks ago and she was still trying to get over the little fluff ball, although she didn't strike him as the guinea pig loving type. Whatever the case, this girl definitely looked like a rambler and he didn't want to hear it. That was clearly boyfriend territory and he had no desire to venture into the unknown land of Boyfriend.

She shot him a grateful smile, 'Want to start over?'

He contemplated her somewhat childish offer. It was cute. She was cute. 'Yeah,' he nodded, 'Sure.' He extended his hand to shake hers. 'I'm Logan, 6A on my way to JFK.'

Her lips curled into a small smile, 'I'm Rory, 6B, on my way to JFK.'

'Well, fancy that,' Logan said, humoring her, 'Pleasure to meet you, Rory.'

Rory nodded fondly at this little exchange, 'Same here.'

'So, Rory,' Logan drawled as he let go of her hand, 'Is that your real name, or is it a nickname of some sort?' He made sure to keep his tone light and airy and his eyes focused, but not to intently, on her face.

'Seriously,' she asked somewhat unsurely, her face revealing her concern.

Logan cleared his throat, in spoke in a professorial way, 'Correct me if I'm wrong, Rory, but we were starting over and I believe a significant part of starting over is to engage in the act of small talk.'

It was obvious to Logan that she was contemplating whether he was mocking her, or being sincere. Truthfully, he hadn't decided on what he was doing, but it seemed fitting.

'I guess, yeah,' she said finally. She bit the bottom of her lip subconsciously, 'We don't have to re-re-introduce ourselves, right?' she shot him a soft smile.

'Nah,' he shrugged, 'So, Rory, nickname or real name?'

'Nickname,' she responded promptly, 'but I rarely go by my real name.'

'That bad, huh?'

'No, not at all' she shook her head, 'It's just that my Mom goes by the same name.'

He noted that her tone changed as she mentioned her mother. It was loving and respectful, which was remarkable considering her society background.

'Lorelai,' she continued, 'That's our name. And I know you are going to say it's weird for a mother to name her daughter after herself, but if men can do it, why can't she? And you are probably going to say that 'Rory' isn't exactly a nickname for Lorelai, but at least it's inspired. I could have been a Lola or a..."

His smirking caused her to stop mid-sentence, 'What?'

He was right, she was definitely a rambler. 'How do you know what I was going to say, Little Miss Quick-to-Judge,' he winked at her, 'Maybe I share the same feminist streak your mother seems to have, or perhaps I hate the name Lola just as much as you seem to…'

'Well,' Rory leaned back in her chair, 'It's not how most people react.'

'Well,' Logan said, mimicking her tone, 'I'm not most people.' He waited a beat, gauging her reaction. Her eyes widened momentarily and her lips curled into a small smile. He continued, 'And, Rory works for you. You don't strike me as a Lola or Lori.'

She absentmindedly grabbed the heart shaped charm on her silver necklace and swirled it around a few times. Logan wondered if this was another nervous habit. 'And why is that?' Rory asked.

He shrugged, 'Lola sounds cheap and you, Birkin,' he said, pointing at her pale pink bag, 'are anything but cheap!'

A heartfelt laugh escaped Rory. 'So, what about you, Hugo,' she pointed at his crisp white shirt, 'Any revealing nicknames?'

'Nah,' he waved, 'and if you decide to refer to me by my clothing, I would prefer you to use the full name, Hugo Boss. Or, if you must, just Boss will do.' He shot her a look, letting her know that he was joking.

She responded immediately, 'Okay, Just Boss, absolutely no embarrassing nick names?'

'Well,' Logan laughed, 'I do have this Aussie friend…'

'I knew it!' Rory nodded enthusiastically, 'What's he call you? Cupcake? Honey Muffin? Mars Bar?'

'Close,' Logan laughed at her sudden enthusiasm. He waited a beat so as to build her anticipation, 'Butter Cup,'

A large smile appeared on Rory's face as she continued the conversation, 'Is he open sexually or just in a perpetual state of drunkenness?'

'The latter,' Logan laughed amazed at how she was able to describe Finn in a nutshell, 'Though I suppose that goes hand-in-hand with being open sexually,' he added as an afterthought.

'Got to love the Aussies,' Rory nodded approvingly.

'You've been?' Logan continued with the conversation, marveling at how easy it flowed.

'Once,' Rory told him, 'Spent a summer there with my best friend. We backpacked.'

Logan scrunched up his nose; he could not imagine this girl back-packing.

'Hey, don't look at me like that,' she said, taking mock offence, as she caught his disapproving look.

'Oh,' Logan snorted, trying to camouflage his laughter, 'You are telling me that a girl like you successfully backpacked her way through Australia?'

'I should be offended,' Rory deadpanned, fixating her eyes on his.

'But you aren't,' Logan replied carefully.

'No,' she shook her head, letting her brown curly hair bounce around.

'Because it's true?' Logan wanted to know.

'Yes,' Rory admitted reluctantly and Logan could tell she hated that he was able to get her to admit her failed attempt at back-backing.

'What happened?'

'We found out that backpacking, you know, was,' Rory paused and spoke with unmistakable disgust, 'backpacking!' She shrugged smiled at the memory and continued, 'So, we spent the rest of our trip in the penthouse suite at the Hilton in Sydney.'

Logan smiled, 'Good choice. I've spent an occasional summer at that Hilton myself.' He decided to forgo telling her that he and Finn are now Persona Non Grata at that particular branch of the hotel chain for trashing two of the suites and draining the in-door pool for a makeshift skate rink. He did; however, like how unapologetically she confessed her backpacking adventure. She was not that girl and she did not care one bit. Logan didn't it tell her this, though.

He shot her another one of his signature smirks, 'You know what this means, right?'

'That I'm not going to be a contestant on next year's Amazing Race,' she quipped.

'No,' Logan shook his head, 'That you, Birkin, are high maintenance.'

Her eyes widened at the suggestion since no women wants to be labeled as high maintenance. Obviously, she didn't know it was part of Logan's game. And if she did, she did a damn good job at hiding it.

'I am far from high maintenance,' she said firmly, 'I just know what I like and how I want it.'

To Logan, who lived with his mind in the gutter, couldn't help but smirk at the secret sexual content hidden in this message, but Rory was quick to shoot him down as she caught the look on his face. 'And, no, that is not an innuendo in any way, shape or form!'

'Duly noted,' Logan nodded, he liked this semi-riled-up side Rory was displaying, though it somewhat worried him she could change personalities that quickly. Still, he wanted to push her buttons just a tiny bit more. 'Okay,' he sighed, as if he was giving in, 'but for the record, you are high maintenance – of the worst kind!'

He braced himself for the rant he was sure was to follow but it remained silent. She was simply glaring at him, waiting for an explanation.

'You know,' he shrugged, 'the type that thinks she's low maintenance.'

Rory's raised one eyebrow at him, 'Thanks for that brilliant analysis, Harry Burns.'

Logan waited a beat, 'I thought I was Just Boss?'

Rory shot him an incredulous look, 'You've never seen 'When Harry met Sally?'

Logan shrugged, 'Can't say I have…' He noticed her shaking her head, 'Is that a bad thing?' He shot her a flirtatious smile, 'Do I lose points?'

Rory sighed exasperatedly, 'If I were counting, yes!' She continued, gesticulating wildly, 'When Harry met Sally is the mother of all romantic comedies. I can't believe that you've never seen it, with all luxury in your life, I can't believe you couldn't spare two hours of your life to see the one of the most romantic movies of all time! It's part of your continuing education,' she ranted.

Logan shot her an amused look, 'In what?'

'Life,' she exclaimed, 'Do you want to fail in life, Logan?'

At this, he couldn't help but laugh loudly. 'You sound just like my dad, you know that?' he smiled at her, as she self-consciously brushed a stray hair behind her left ear.

'Failing is never an option, Birkin,' Logan said, mimicking his father's serious doom-and-gloom tone. He was about to continue but the crackling sound of the PA-system cut him off.

'Ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking…..'

As the captain droned on about flight routes, altitudes, numbers in line and cross-checks Logan noticed that slowly the color was draining from Rory's face.

'Are you all right?' he asked, surprising himself as to how concerned he sounded.

Rory shook her head, ever so slightly, 'I told you I hate flying.' She fiddled nervously with her shirt sleeve and the sadness that was in her eyes before, had now been replaced by genuine fear.

'I thought you just hated flying commercially,' Logan laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood, which earned him a small smile from his seat mate.

'Hey,' Logan said softly, swinging an arm around her shoulder and he could have sworn he felt her relax instantly at his touch, 'It'll be okay. Flying is totally safe; you know you have a bigger chance of getting struck by lightning than being involved in a plane crash…'

'I was struck by lightning, you know,' Rory said.

'Really,' Logan asked in disbelief, wondering to what extent that affected her statistics.

'No,' Rory let out a tiny laugh, 'but I always have to think about that when people feed me the statistics. It's not like it would make a difference anyway,' she shrugged, 'its two separate statistical analyses. One does not influence the other.'

'Yeah,' Logan nodded, 'no, you are right.' He hoped he sounded convincing, like he knew something about statistics.

Rory continued babbling, not bothering to remove his comforting arm from around her shoulder. She seemed distracted enough not to say she was scared, but her leaning in so closely that she was practically sitting on his lap let him know that she was indeed scared out of her mind.

He continued to listen to Rory's musings, nodding or laughing in the appropriate places as the plane made its way down the runway and up into the sky. He caught himself thinking how much he enjoyed this feeling. Immediately, his father's catch phrase entered his mind. He had known this girl for a little less than an hour and he knew that she was immensely different than any other girl that he had met. She had personality, wit, passion and undoubtedly good looks. The stakes were high as he felt that this was quickly becoming a matter of the heart. Failing at this game was definitely not an option.

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_Let me know if this lived up to your expectations! _


	3. Round Three: Rule Change

**Fifty reviews on two chapters! Wow, wow, wow! That's fantastic – thank-you!  
Let me just say, the boy brain is complicated! Let me know how I did :)**

**Enjoy, **

**Gilmoregirl19 **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls. **

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His arm was still firmly fixed around Rory's shoulder and she was still busy babbling on about something. Logan was much too distracted to listen as his stole a glance at his watch. Twenty-two minutes, that's how long he had been holding Rory. Twenty-two of his hand squeezing her shoulder close to him. Twenty-two minutes of all sorts of alarm bells ringing in his mind as he had never felt such an instant psychical and emotional attraction to a girl before.

He scolded himself as he never touched a girl for comfort or protection. He was breaking another one of his rules as he made it a point to only touch girls in a certain way as much for his pleasure as for theirs. He glanced down at her. She was sitting comfortably, unaware of the internal battle going on in his mind.

Instinctively, he knew this girl was different. That was what attracted him to her in the first place. However, now, it was more a question of whether he wanted to continue with his game. By the way she had scooted up close to him, looked to him for comfort and protection let him know she was clearly girlfriend material. He was not boyfriend material and unfortunately he had no intention of becoming boyfriend material.

He knew he could easily string her along, make her crazy for him and have his way with her in the cramped airplane bathroom. Friends of his did this on a regular basis, albeit in different circumstances yet without an ounce of remorse. And while these men might be in the clear from a strict consensual point of view, it wasn't morally on the up-and-up and Logan knew this. He wasn't that guy; he had integrity though it pained him to admit it. It was especially painful to realize he still had a six and a half hour flight with this stunning creature on his arm and he was cornered. He could look, but not touch as it became evident that she could never be his, since he was unwilling to change and he did not want her to change for him. He was fighting a losing battle.

"Excuse me," he interrupted her as he realized that her touch was making him crazy, "Just going to use the men's room." He shot from his chair and granted her a smile in an attempt to cover up his somewhat weird behavior.

"Get a grip, man" he muttered to himself as soon as locked the tiny bathroom door. He splashed some cold water on his face and told himself to be cool, be open and friendly but nothing too over the top. The last thing he wanted was Rory becoming attached…at least not more than she already was.

He smirked at his reflection in the mirror as his friends would probably tell him not to flatter himself, but he couldn't help it. He knew Birkin digged him. Rory, he scolded himself once again. Birkin was a nickname for a girlfriend and he didn't want a girlfriend!

"Well, that was grim," Logan deadpanned as he returned to his seat.

"Really? That bad?" Rory asked, looking up from her book and scrunching up her face.

Logan noticed she was now sitting sideways on the chair with her back against the window, far away from him, resting her feet on her armrest. He had expected her to carry on with her babbling or at least crack a joke about how horrendous commercial airline bathrooms were but she simply returned to her reading.

"What are you reading?" Logan hesitated to ask. He ought to be thankful she didn't appear madly interested in him, but at the same time that bothered him.

"Meg Cabot," she responded, not lifting her eyes from the page. "Normally, I read heavier stuff but I can't seem to concentrate…" she trailed off, leaving Logan to wonder she meant with that statement. Was it that she couldn't concentrate because he was sitting next to her? Or, because she was on a regular BA-flight with two-hundred and fifty other people or was it because something tragic happened to her and she couldn't stop thinking about that?

Logan's obsessive thinking was making him dizzy, so he dug his IPOD from his carry-on, put in his earphones and turned up the volume, hoping to drown out his thoughts but also to let her know that he was ignoring her. It was childish, yes, but she was effectively doing the same and two could play that game.

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"Hey!" A sharp poke on his shoulder drew him from the soothing tones of Jack Johnson and back to the real world, where Rory's big eyes met his. He paused his tunes and pulled out his ear phones.

"Chicken or fish?" she asked him as she pointed to the flight attendant who was waiting patiently with a tray of warmed-up readymade meals.

"What did you get?" he asked Rory.

An outsider would have guessed it was a longstanding ritual: the boyfriend looking at his girlfriend for direction on food choices; however, Rory and Logan barely knew each others' names, so surely not long enough to have created such habits.

"Chicken," she responded with a casual smile, pointing to her tray-table. Logan noticed her book had disappeared.

He nodded, agreeing she made the right choice and ordered the same.

"You were pretty out of it," Rory mentioned, opening the tiny bottle of water that accompanied her lunch.

"I was?" he asked and proceeded to do the same.

"You were," Rory nodded, "What were you listening?"

Logan was caught a little off-guard. Maybe the altitude was messing with his mind, but it appeared as though she had taken control of the situation. First, she clung to him, quite literally, then she pushed him away and now she was reaching out again. Or, was she just making small talk as it was impossible to read and eat in the small area she had?

He stole another glance at his watch. Five hours. He could do this – whatever it was.

"Jack Johnson," he informed her, as he opened his plastic utensils.

"Really?" she asked in slight amazement.

"Yeah," he chuckled, "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I just didn't peg you as the sensitive, poetic type," she shrugged in response.

He smirked at her, trying to figure out if her statement carried a hidden message.

"I'm a genuine enigma, Birkin," he said cockily, hoping that his response would answer a possible hidden message, too.

She laughed. "You keep telling yourself that," she said, giving him a sassy smile.

"I do," he shot back, lacing his tone with the same sass as her smile. Normally, a girl wouldn't call him out on his cockiness, but the guys usually did and he responded in the same fashion. He decided that he could no longer pursue Rory and so, by default, she sort of became one of the guys, giving him a chance to relax and open up. As long as she refrained from touching him, that is...

"I like different music," he told her, "Jack Johnson just happens to be one of them."

She nodded in agreement, "Me too. Everything from Jack Johnson to disco cover bands…" she laughed, "That's my friend Lane's influence, though, if it were up to me I'd never get passed the Billboard Top 100. She sends me this weird mixes with all sorts of different music… "

Logan grinned, "I'd like Lane, I think. I do the same to my friend Finn…" he rolled his eyes and took a bite of the chicken.

"Wow," he said, chewing slowly, "This is pretty bad."

Rory looked down at her untouched tray. She had eaten her roll and dessert first.

"The roll and dessert wasn't too bad," she said, trying to sound encouraging.

"But," he said, raising his finger, as if it was an important matter, "you haven't tried the chicken."

"Well," she tried to stall, but he wasn't buying it. He grabbed her plastic fork and stabbed a cube of sautéed chicken from her tub.

"Sauce?" he asked, pointing at the in indefinable brownish sauce.

"Might as well," she sighed, as he dragged the plastic fork through the brownish goop.

She held out her hand, waiting for him to pass the fork, but he didn't.

"Open wide," he said playfully, holding the fork right in front of mouth. She obliged and he carefully fed her the nasty chicken.

"Oh come on," she said, still chewing the chicken, "It's not that bad." Logan smiled, since she was putting on a good front, but her contorted face gave her away. She swallowed it and immediately took a big sip of her water. She caught his smirking face.

"Okay, okay," she relented, "You are right and I am wrong…"

He noticed the twinkle in her eye. "Is that what you want to hear?" she asked.

"Frankly," he said, picking up his pre-packed brownie, "Yes."

"Mean," she shot him a playful glare.

He smirked at her, but didn't talk. He felt her eyes trace him as he ripped open the brownie package and broke the sweet treat in two.

"Here," he said, holding it out to her, "Consider it a peace offering."

Rory surprised him by calling him even meaner. "You don't toy with a girl, especially when it comes to important things like chocolate!"

He shot her a disbelieving look. If she only knew how much self-control he was displaying by not toying with her. He laughed, "Is that so, Birkin?"

"Damn straight," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, "But, I'll take that brownie anyway," she added with a coy wink.

"That's the problem with flying commercial," Logan said knowingly, handing her the brownie, "The private jet has a better food to brownie ratio."

"This is so," Rory nodded in agreement, "Though I usually opt for burgers and fries."

"Really?" he asked, mildly stunned. Most women he knew followed a very strict regimen. They were forever counting calories, or working out how many hours or days they needed on the treadmill to work off a snickers bar.

"Fast metabolism," Rory informed him, as he realized he was staring at her perfectly slim body. "And, even if I didn't I'd eat them…burgers, I mean." She shot him a bright smile.

"When you say burgers," he asked suddenly, "Do you mean authentic grilled burgers or fast-food?"

She laughed. "Good question," she complimented him, before answering, "Both. It depends on my mood. A Big Mac is can be just as good as a diner burger."

He nodded in agreement, "McDonalds has the best fries, too."

Rory snorted, "No, they don't," she wagged a mock-scolding finger at him, "Burger King does."

"Are you serious?" he snorted.

"Yes," Rory said confidently, "In fact, I'll have my driver pick up a Big Mac and BK-fries if I'm in the mood for that."

"Seriously?"

"That's what he gets paid for," she shrugged unapologetically, "Besides, I'm sure you, Mr. Enigma, have some of your own quirky habits…"

Logan laughed as he liked how unapologetic she was concerning her background. She didn't treat it like a great tragedy or some superpower bestowed upon her. It was what it was, and at the end of the day her driver got a hefty pay-check to get burgers and fries for her. He also respected her witty comeback.

"I do," he laughed, "Getting pub burgers and McDonald's fries!"

"Now you are just teasing me," she pouted, turning her head away from him. He could tell it was an act, though.

"No, I'm not," Logan shook his head. It was the truth.

She shot him an unconvinced look, "I don't believe that for a minute."

"It's true," Logan said dramatically, "It's too bad I can't use my cell-phone in-flight. I'd call up Finn and he'd set you straight."

"Do you always call your friends to the rescue?" she asked lightheartedly.

"Only in dire times," he answered teasingly.

It was as if the initial awkwardness had melted away. They had fallen back into comfortable banter and Logan, once again, found himself wishing Rory wasn't a Girlfriend Girl.

"So, Birkin," he asked, stirring his rum-and-coke, "How does a girl like you end up on a commercial flight?"

"Well," she responded coyly, "How does a mysterious gentleman such as yourself wind up on a commercial flight?"

"I asked you first," Logan said. He had expected her to embark on a humorous story about oversleeping and missing her scheduled jet or something. Instead her features changed and definite sadness crept over her face.

'You can go first," she exhaled deeply, prompting him to give her a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder.

"You want the whole life story, or just the reason I'm stuck in this tin can with you?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Uh," she said distractedly, stirring her own libation, "You decide how much of the mystery you want to be made known...'

He nodded approvingly at her ability to engage in this semi-flirtatious banter.

"I live in London;" he told her, "Have all my life, really, ever since the parents sent me off to boarding school. I barely ever see them."

"Oh," Rory frowned, "That's sad…"

Logan was surprised by her reaction. Most people he knew shared similar relationships with their parents and it was all something they could collectively bitch about. Apparently, though, Rory had a fabulous bond with her family.

"Not really," Logan clarified: "my friends are my family and London is a great place to live."

Rory nodded understandingly, "So why are you off to JFK?"

"My father," Logan laughed slightly uncomfortably as Rory shot him an unconvinced look. "I thought you said you never saw them?"

"I don't," he was quick to explain. "This is just a business thing. Believe me, Birkin, the only relationship I share with my father is on a corporate level."

"Wow," Rory sighed. "That sucks…" she trailed off.

"So, what's your story, B?" Logan asked lightly. He had no intention of getting into the difficult Huntzberger family dynamics

"Well, what do you want to know?" she asked him.

"Where are you from?"

"The East Coast," she replied evasively, causing him to smirk. He certainly thought of himself as a complex, multi-layered individual, but this girl really took the cake.

"Which means you move and shake in the Society Circles of a) Connecticut, b) Boston or c) New York," he said using his game show voice.

"That would be correct," Rory smiled. "Connecticut," she clarified for him.

"Glad you answered," He gave her a warm smile, "I was afraid I'd have to use m lifeline." She returned the smile.

"JFK is a little bit out of the way, isn't it?" he continued his round of twenty questions. He didn't reveal that Connecticut was his would-be stomping grounds, though, had he not been shipped off to boarding school. It was odd to realize he was sitting next to someone who lived in the same world as he did, but grew up having an entirely different experience. He couldn't help but wonder if his experience would have been different if he had gotten the chance to get to know Rory in his youth.

"It was the only flight available," she said seriously, "I needed to get home."

He saw the despair in her eyes as she continued, "I was in Rome earlier, visiting Lane and her husband Dave," she paused, "They are on their honeymoon." She distractedly ran a hand through her hair, "Anyway, I needed to get home, and Rome, via London to JFK, was the fastest route."

He nodded understandingly as he wondered what pressing matter brought her home. He knew better than to mess with his father, otherwise he would have been drinking pints with his friends.

"Must have been some business deal if your dad made you fly commercial," Rory shot him a wry smile as she mused aloud.

"It is," Logan he said seriously. Internally, he consistently mocked HPG, but for outsiders he put on a proud smile, knowing that his father would kill him if he caught wind of bad press.

"So, what do you do?" Rory wanted to know.

Logan groaned inwardly. He was just fine putting up a two-word front, but he couldn't bear to sit here and explain in detail what he did for a living. It was too dangerous. Knowing she was from Connecticut meant that she might have heard stories about a certain blonde Huntzberger heir and that was just too messy and tangled to get into for the four remaining hours of the flight.

"Is it relevant?" he asked smoothly.

Rory shrugged, "Not really." A sly smile appeared on her face. "Can I take a guess, though?"

"By all means," he chuckled happily; glad to have dodged another bullet.

"I see you…." she made a rectangle from her thumbs and index fingers, capturing Logan's face in between, "I see you as a talent scout. The new Simon Cowell. I'm sure you can do a convincing British accent if you wanted to."

Logan laughed loudly and he was amazed at how accurately she was able to describe his ideal job. It was something he had wanted to pitch to his father for the longest time. Not the Simon Cowell part, but definitely scouting new musical talent and adding a record label to HPG impressive list of media acquisitions.

Rory and Logan continued to talk throughout the rest of the flight. Logan was in awe at how easy their conversation continued to flow. His instincts were right, though, Rory was a relationship girl. He knew that much about her and he didn't even know her last name! Just that she belonged to the Connecticut Set. That narrowed it down somewhat, but he had limited knowledge as to which families belonged to that part of Society.

Honestly, it didn't matter since he was not boyfriend material and he had no desire to become boyfriend material. He rolled his eyes; he was growing tired of himself. He never thought about relationships this much before and this whole 'not boyfriend' mantra he had started repeating irked him, since when did he start caring? Hadn't the point been to just play the game with Rory for the duration of the flight? It was coming to an end and soon they would go their separate ways. Let it go, Huntzberger, he told himself.

A slight crackle drew Logan from his collection of thoughts. It was the captain alerting his passengers that JFK was about twenty minutes away.

"Fast flight," Logan said to Rory, as she peeled off her fuzzy socks and tossed them in her expensive purse.

"Yeah," she nodded and Logan saw the color flood from her face for a second time.

"Afraid of landing, too, Birkin?" he asked in the same comforting tone he used before. It didn't surprise him this time, though.

"It's part of flying, isn't it?" she retorted.

"Yes, it is." He couldn't stop his lips from curling into a soft smile. "Come here," he said, pulling her in closer and breaking his own, once so important rules. He realized that the Game had never really stopped. In fact, this was a new beginning.


	4. Round Four: We Only Part

**Round Four: We Only Part… **

**Wow! Can I just say that I'm really impressed with all the reviews for this story! My other stories are jealous! This was going to be one long chapter, but I split it into two parts since I'm taking a really demanding elective at school which seriously cuts into my writing time. So it's short but sweet – enjoy. **

**PS: I am contemplating on rewriting this story in Rory's POV (so you "see" her thoughts about playing along in this "love game". Her story would be called "Love Story" and I'm also considering putting a little background up on my profile since the next couple of chapters will really head into the twisted world of AU. What do you think?**

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The plane touched down smoothly and Logan felt Rory's grip relax instantly. She breathed a sigh of relief, but still kept her hand firmly wrapped around his as the plane taxied towards the gate.

A soft smile played at Logan's lips. Since the plane had started it's descend all conversation between the pair came to an abrupt halt. Rory wasn't the quick-witted, sharp-tongued, flirtatious challenge she had been during the flight.

He knew she had been nervous during take-off, she had let him know, but this was different. He saw genuine fear in her, as if she was dreading what was about to come.

Logan suspected that her travels were not for joyous reasons; however, she hadn't cared to elaborate on that and he hadn't wanted to push considering he was busy balancing a fine line of pursuing her; contemplating his possible role of The Boyfriend; and keeping her at a friendly distance.

When she reached for his hand after the plane dropped another few thousand feet, he didn't feel trapped by the clingy girl hand. Instead, he squeezed it comfortingly and spoke a few encouraging choice words. It seemed natural and she relaxed at his tone, and he liked it.

Logan rolled his eyes inwardly. He hated to admit it, but he _did_ like it. There was a great sense of satisfaction to be the only person in that moment to ease Rory's fears. He had liked their first touch during take-off, too. It was one of immediate attraction and Logan had been trying to figure out if it was part of her game, even though she did not strike him as one to put on a damsel in distress show.

He definitely liked the bubbly, funny Rory he had gotten to know surprisingly well during the flight, but he found this Rory endearing. She allowed herself to be vulnerable for him. There was no show, no well-planned 'save-me' pick-up scene. It was real and he without thought he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, for the sole purpose of soothing her fears. He sighed as he realized that they had almost reached the gate. She would go off and continue with her glamorous, albeit mysterious life and he would quickly go to his father's dearest friends' funeral and head back to secure London on the next flight back.

She caught his attention with a soft smile. He repaid the gesture.

"Thanks," she mumbled softly as she let go of Logan's hand.

"Quite a death grip you've got there, Birkin," he smirked as joking rubbed his hand.

He had expected a witty quip, but it didn't come. She busied herself by rummaging through her bag.

Logan knew this was a significant moment. The flight was over; they were practically at the gate. There future hung somewhere in the balance. Was this it? Was it a random encounter, one that was never meant to be anything more than seven hours?

He tried to steal a glance at her face, something to read her by but she was busy with that bag. There will be some things men will never manage to understand about women and this was one of them. He sighed, as he reached for his carry-on, quickly double checking he had his passport, wallet and phone. The fasten seatbelt signed pinged so as to let the passengers know they had finally arrived safely at the destination. The handful of business class travelers rose from their seats, but the captain's bored voice brought all the commotion to a complete stop.

"Ladies and gentleman," he crackled over the PA-system, "Once again this is your captain speaking. As you can tell, we have arrived safely at our destination and typically this would be the moment where you gather your belongings and rush off this tin can…. "

"Funny guy," Logan whispered sarcastically to Rory and a bright smile appeared on her face.

"….However, this is not a typical day as it appears we have some sort of VIPs on the plane, which need to de-board immediately. So, please, passenger 6A and 6B, please stand up, make your way to the front and collect your prize!"

The disdain which dripped from the captains' voice was obvious.

Instantly, Logan felt twenty pairs of eyes burn on his back. Apparently, his flight mates weren't too happy about this little turn of events.

"Logan," Rory whispered slightly embarrassed, "That's us! Why is it us?"

He couldn't help but smirk at her sudden shyness. What was it about this girl that caused her to go from a sexy, self-confident woman who could conquer the world, to a timid girl, with wide eyes, looking to him for direction? He didn't know, but he was attracted to both sides of her.

"Birkin, you can't tell me you've never been escorted off a commercial flight before?" he asked as he got up and casually opened the overhead bin. Granted, Logan had only received this type of treatment in an inebriated state. Nevertheless, he wasn't surprised his father had arranged some sort of deal now, seeing as it was absolutely crucial he made it to this funeral on time.

"Yes," she said hesitantly, while gathering her things, trying her best to avoid the resentful looks from the other travelers, "but I hadn't expected it…"

"Hey," he said, softening his tone, "Don't worry about it, B. It is what it is, and we have got to get off this plane, right?"

She nodded, but couldn't help brush away a strand of hair as she looked around the business class area self-consciously.

"You've got anything up here?" he asked warmly, pointing at the overhead bins.

"No," she shook her head.

"Then we are set," he said, picking up his carry-on in one hand.

He leaned towards her and spoke in a hushed whisper, "Walk out of here with your head held high, okay? They are all just jealous bastards!"

She let out a soft chuckle, and Logan felt a little better for easing her embarrassment.

"I'll take that," he announced gallantly to the glaring Suits in business class, making sure to use his Society tone to add to the infuriation the passengers were undoubtedly feeling. Rory handed him her coat, leaving her with just her beloved Birkin tote. Logan gestured for her to lead the way, and they made their way off the plane. Rory with light pink cheeks, matching her pink sweater and Logan with a confident smirk plastered on his face, but both with their head held high.

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"You know," Rory said lightly as the pair made their way to customs, "You shouldn't really play Mr. Society after a seven hour flight, just to irritate the other passengers for your own personal benefit…"

It was obvious that she was feeling better after the torturous landing and de-boarding debacle.

"Yours too," he laughed in response. He contemplating making a slightly suggestive remark, but considering that she was just now beginning to return to the bright and bubbly Rory he knew, he decided to take the safer route. "And besides, why not?" he added in mock- surprise.

"It's unbecoming…"

"You lie," he interjected teasingly.

"I wasn't finished yet," she warned playfully, before continuing seriously, "You might cause a mutiny!"

"True," he replied in all-mock-seriousness. "Why didn't you warn me about these dangers before, Birkin?" He shot her a piercing look.

"Well, Logan," she shrugged, "I thought a well-travelled man of the world such as yourself would surely know the dangers of international travel!"

He stifled a laugh as they entered the customs area. If there was a time to be serious, this was most certainly the time. The pair cleared customs quickly and made their way to baggage claim.

The mood had changed considerably as realization set in that this was it. Rory became quiet again and Logan presumed she was caught up in her own thoughts. He still wasn't one hundred percent sure she liked him. It was an odd thing for the heir to admit; however, this time it was different. Maybe the goal in this Game hadn't been to end up in a compromising position in the airplane bathroom, but maybe something simpler like her phone number. Or last name. Neither of which he had.

"Any of these yours?" Rory asked, jerking her head at the baggage belt.

Logan looked intently at the carousel for a moment or two as suitcases of various shapes and sizes passed. "Nope," he sighed and shrugged, "What's the point of VIP-treatment if we still have to wait here?'

'I don't know,' Rory shrugged, looking up at him.

'What's your bag look like?' he asked, trying to make small talk in an attempt to avoid the awkwardness of the goodbye that lay ahead of them.

"You'll know it when you see it," Rory replied with a cute smile, "It's a Hello Kitty one."

Logan shot her a disbelieving grin, "For real? Isn't Hello Kitty for kids?"

"Silly rabbit," she laughed with shake of her head and let out a loud squeal as she saw her bag move past them on the belt."That's it!"

Always the gentleman, Logan stepped forwarded and got her bright pink, Hello Kitty encrusted case. "One Hello Kitty bag," he said with a soft smile he said upon returning.

"Thanks," Rory said appreciatively, and held out her hand to take the suitcase from him.

"I've got it," he said, keeping his eyes firmly locked on the baggage belt, a smirk lacing his face.

"But I can take it…" she offered, with a soft smile.

He waved her suggestion away, "But I've got it…"

"But I want it," Rory replied, a tiny bit of irritation audible in her tone.

"How 'bout I say you can't have it?" Logan suggested, shooting her a teasing smile.

"Come on, Logan…" she sighed, placing her hand on her hip. "Just…"

"How 'bout I say you can have it back if you give me your number?" he asked, keeping his focus firmly on the baggage belt. This was the first time he had asked a girl for her number. The girls found him and with a simple look he would receive the all too important numbers. She was about to shoot back another quick remark, but it was apparent that Logan had caught her off-guard. She rolled her eyes, and he realized that she didn't like having the upper hand.

"I thought you'd never ask," she mumbled, just loud enough for Logan to hear as she took the cell his was holding out for her to take. She expertly programmed in her number and Logan took the phone back.

"I'm calling you to make sure you didn't put in some bogus number, B, so be warned!" he laughed, though he realized it would be a pretty awkward situation if, in fact, did not hear the promised ringing from her bag.

"What?" she put her hand on her hip in mock-offence. "You think I'd lie to you?"

He shot her a look questioning look and the loud ringing emerging from Rory's Birkin revealed that she was indeed telling the truth.

"You know," she said, reaching for her phone to save this new contact, "in some states this whole withholding-of-the-bag-for-your-phone-number would be considered some sort of blackmail," she pointed out with a laugh.

Logan nodded in agreement as he smirked at her, "A man's got to do what a man's got to do."

Rory laughed approvingly, "Whatever it takes I suppose…"

"Damn straight," Logan answered with a nod, as he noticed that Rory's face fell. "What's wrong?"

"That's my driver," Rory said, pointing to the sliding glass doors. A chubby middle-aged man was waiting patiently. "Claude," Rory clarified. It was clear to Logan that Rory needed to go.

"Go on, Birkin," he swallowed, "Get out of here; you've been at this airport for way to long!" He did not want to see her go, but now that he had secured her number there was no point in dragging out this goodbye. It wasn't as if they could grab a coffee, or meet up for dinner. In all honesty, Logan didn't know if there was any point in having her number if he wouldn't be able to see her again.

"I can wait for you," she distractedly ran a hand through her hair; "I mean you and your bags."

Logan shot her a soft smile. "I've got time," she continued, stealing a glance at the large clock on the wall.

"You can't," he warned playfully, "Besides; I tricked you into giving me your number. So, I'll give you a call…" he said, leaving his promise lingering in the air.

Rory bit her bottom lip in contemplation and clenched her Birkin bag tightly as she grabbed her suitcase with her free hand and slung her coat over her arm.

"Okay," she whispered and leaned in closely, on her tippy toes as if she was going to kiss him, but she didn't. "See you around, Logan," she said, leaving him with a coy smile and her hot breath tickling on his neck.

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	5. Round Five: Out of My Mind

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I am so flattered by the response to this story. You guys are the BEST! I'm on a writing frenzy and I completely changed my mind on how to continue 'Love Game'. I wanted to keep it under ten chapters, but that is not going to happen. Looking over my notes, it seems more like forty! Hope it still lives up to your expectations. Enjoy and review please!!

**Disclaimer: I do not own GG!! **

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Logan Huntzberger was rarely caught off guard but Rory had succeeded in doing so. He hadn't expected her to lean in close enough for him to feel her breath tickling on his neck, or to smell the faint perfume on her skin. He was captivated, momentarily paralyzed by her body so dangerously close to his and her inviting eyes looking up at his.

She had already turned away, making her way through the crowd before he regained his composure and the ability to say something. He couldn't just let her walk away.

"Yeah! See you around, Birkin," he called out after her. It was a little too late and even he heard that it sounded just a little lame. She looked around, acknowledging him with a soft smile before continuing her route to the door.

He tried to salvage what was left of the cool-boy image he created on the plane with his signature smirk, but she didn't look back. His eyes followed her every move, while his mind willed her to look back at him; to grant him another one of those bedazzling smiles or a short wave. Something from her to acknowledge the moment they had just shared, but she simply took the coffee her driver held out for her, took a quick and much-needed sip and left with the glass sliding doors unceremoniously shutting behind her.

Logan absentmindedly rested his hand on the back of his neck, closing his eyes and slowly dropping his head, moving it left to right to stretch out the suddenly tense muscles in his neck, shoulders and back. A soft groan escaped his lips. What just happened?

He possessed the ability to stun girls with his tone, look and the anticipation of his touch. It was a powerful feeling to know he could affect someone simply being in his, but in this case mostly her, presence. He never had anyone so blatantly take away the power that made him notorious and he certainly never expected to be on the receiving end of such a play, but all it took was her face to be a mere two inches away from his and he felt his stomach knot up, his palms get sweaty and he got caught up in the overwhelming urge to close the gap between them.

He did not care for the unexpectedness of it all. The Bachelor Boys of London did not get sweaty palms and they certainly did not allow themselves to feel self-conscious about it. He scolded himself for letting her affect him so much, wiped his hands on his jeans and refocused his gaze on the baggage belt. All is effort went into concentrating on spotting his black Johnston & Murphy luggage.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help his heart skipping a beat as his cell vibrated in his pocket.

"Ha! She misses me already", he told himself arrogantly, slightly comforted by the fact he wasn't the only one, but the smile that was threatening to break-out on his face quickly turned in to a frown when he realized it wasn't her number flashing on his screen, but his father's.

He contemplating letting the call go to voice-mail, but he knew that was going to cause more trouble than his last few moments of peace were worth.

"Dad, hey," he said, trying his best to keep his tone light and airy.

"I don't need to hear your excuses, Logan." Mitchum spoke in his no-nonsense tone; letting him know that cracking a smart-ass remark about his 'friendly' greeting was pointless. "Your flight landed more than thirty minutes ago," he continued. "Did you or did you not understand that your presence is required at the funeral?"

"I'm waiting for my bag," Logan explained, clenching is jaw as he struggled not to kick-start a shouting match right there.

"Nonsense," Mitchum dismissed his son, "I arranged for you to be escorted off that flight! That includes luggage!"

"Well, Dad…" Logan weighed his words carefully, "I'm standing at baggage claim now, so someone must have not gotten the message…."

He braced himself for the lashing is father was undoubtedly going to give him, but instead his father went off on a vindictive rant about how commercial airlines were worthless and staffed by complete idiots. He couldn't help but smile as he reveled that he wasn't on the receiving end of his father's harsh words for a change. He contemplating on hanging up, but he was grateful to spot his bag on the carousel, giving him a legitimate excuse to escape.

"It's fine, Dad," he said, as he casually swung his bag over his shoulder, "I've got it. I'm on my way. No need to send the lawyers…."

Mitchum hung up in a huff, causing Logan to roll his eyes. He stopped at the vending machine and purchased a Coke and a Snickers bar for himself and picked up the same for Frank, the driver he had grown quite close to during his sporadic visits to the homeland. The men shared an insatiable appetite for all things caffeine and all things chocolate. Fizzy drinks topped the list, not only because they contained the much desired substance, but because they proved to be excellent mixers.

"Mr. Huntzberger!" Logan immediately recognized Frank's face in the crowd and he upped his pace as he walked towards him.

"Frank!" Logan exclaimed as he approached him. "None of this mister bull, man."

He hated that Frank treated him like he was working for him. He was technically, but Logan was never one for formalities. He knew Mitchum instructed Frank to act a certain way and it always took Logan a little while to loosen him up a bit.

Frank gave him a short nod. "As you wish, sir."

"Frank," he scolded gently. "Just call me Logan, okay?"

The middle-aged driver nodded again and gratefully took the soda and candy his boss was holding out for him. "I'm sorry the nature of your trip is such an unhappy one."

Logan gave him an appreciative nod. "Thanks, Frank… but I didn't know him."

"But still…" Frank sighed as he held open the door, "It is a sad occasion."

He knew Frank would not understand that Logan saw this strictly as a business associated job. It was just another conference call, another evening of wining and dining potential investors or giving a presentation for the stakeholders. The emotional impact of losing a loved one was completely wasted on him. Still, he did not want Frank to be brought down by his cynical streak so he nodded sympathetically as he slid in the backseat of the town car.

Frank maneuvered his way out of the crowed airport parking lot and onto the freeway effortlessly. It would be another two hours easily before Logan would arrive in Hartford so he opened his soda bottle and took a swig, savoring the fizz as the liquid hit is tongue. He most certainly wasn't looking forward to this visit and he sincerely hoped he would be able to fly back out to his secure London as soon as the funeral was over. A pair of blue eyes involuntarily flashed through his mind, followed quickly by a jilt of excitement and slightly sweaty palms.

Logan took another swig of his soda and stared pensively out the window. He wasn't so much concerned with women's features flashing through his mind, as this happened on a fairly regular basis. Granted, these were slightly different images; however, never had it managed to cause sweaty palms and this bothered him. He watched the cars passing them by and he wondered if she was in the backseat of one of them. After all, she was a Connecticut Girl, she'd let him into her mysterious world that much.

His phone buzzed once again and he sighed inwardly, wondering what Mitchum wanted now. He was surprised to see it was a text message from none other than the girl that was occupying his thoughts. He internally ordered his heartbeat to return to normal and he pushed the images of her to the back of his mind, though he couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he anxiously opened the text.

"_Apples are more powerful than caffeine at helping to stay awake. – Rory." _

He smiled at her completely random, yet cute message. It wasn't what he had expected. He had thought he would be the next to make a move, or that Rory would send him a thank-you. Not that he expected a thank-you, or needed a thank-you. He comforted her because he wanted to; though it wasn't entirely a self-less act since he got the benefit of holding her hand, having her fingers laced with his. However, she did strike him as the type to thank profusely and he wasn't getting that vibe from this message.

Logan lazily flipped his phone open and shut. She was playing a very intriguing game. She was hot one minute, cold the next and continuously a challenge to figure out. Without really much thought he decided that he should call her.

"Hello?"

"Thanks for that useful tidbit of information, Birkin," he said. "It'll be helpful tonight when I'm wide awake, tossing and turning in bed…" he trailed off, realizing his comments could be interpreted differently, if she happened to be in a suggestive mood. "Jet-lag induced, of course," he clarified quickly.

"Naturally," she replied and he swore he could hear her smirk through the phone. "So, did you get your bags?" She talked casually as if they were longtime friends.

"I did actually," Logan replied, "and they turned out to be the perfect getaway…"

"Really, why?"

"My Dad," Logan sighed, "He called and prepped me for the meeting tomorrow…"

"I'm sorry," she answered, sounding sincere.

He hated that he brought up Mitchum to her. That was his cross to bear and nobody else's and yet he couldn't control it. She had a weird way of getting him to open up.

"And what about you, B?" he asked, gently steering the conversation back to something closer to his comfort zone. "Happy to have both feet firmly on the ground?"

He didn't wait for her response. "Though, as a good Samaritan I feel obliged to tell you that more people die in road related accidents than plane crashes…"

She cut him off, laughing. "I know the statistics," she answered, her breathing still a little unsteady due to her contagious laughter. "But at least I'm in control."

"Your driver is in control," he countered playfully and paused. "But then I suppose you control him, too…"

"I take offence," she deadpanned. "My driver and I have a perfectly happy working-relationship, thank-you-very-much," she quipped. "I trust him."

"With your life apparently," he added teasingly.

"Yeah," she sighed and Logan felt the conversation lagging; however, Rory appeared fine with it since she made no effort to end it.

They sat there in silence. He clenched the phone between his ear and shoulder, listening to her steady breathing and watching the cars buzz pass. After a while, he realized they were stuck in traffic.

"God," he exclaimed, "Traffic is such a pain!"

She hummed in agreement, but it really wasn't convincing.

"You don't sound too thrilled about the prospect of home," he remarked.

She let out a weighty sigh. She might contain the ability to reduce Logan to a puddle of mush and have him pour his heart out, but it was clear he did not have the same effect on her. "I'm not," she finally replied.

"Your own version of my dad got you down?" Logan chuckled, trying to make light of the situation, but it turned out that this wasn't a laughing matter.

"Can we just not talk about it?" she said sharply. Logan frowned. Her tone didn't upset him, since he knew instinctively that she wasn't deliberately giving him the brush-off. She simply did not want to talk about it. What bothered was that she did not want to talk about it with him. What surprised him was that he wanted her to talk to him about it. He wanted to help her, listen to her and that was something he reserved for only the closest in his inner circle. Instead of prying, he decided he would wow her with his vast account of useless and sometimes disturbing facts.

"Do you know why honey is so easily digested by humans?" he asked casually.

"No." Her tone was laced with curiousness – the sadness from before had evaporated.

"Because it's already been digested by bees."

She snorted before she yelped and cursed loudly, impressing Logan with her linguistic skills.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"I spilled coffee on my jeans," she confessed sheepishly. "Damn it. These are my favorites!"

"Did you burn yourself?" He surprised himself as to how concerned he sounded.

"It was warm," she admitted, "but I'm not burnt."

"I'm glad," he nodded, before realizing that her coffee had to be at least a few hours old. "That's some pretty powerful stuff they make at that airport!"

"How so?" she inquired.

He explained that he saw her take the coffee from her driver at which she let out another loud laugh. "You have stalker-ish tendencies, my friend," she chuckled, "And it's not the same coffee. I'm on my third cup!"

He nodded and felt a smile play at his lips. "Coffee addiction?"

"Hardly," she shot back playfully, "And, hello? Who was it that drank eight cans of Coke on the plane?"

"I'm not denying anything, Birkin!"

But she wasn't hearing it and bantered on. "I'll be two-hundred and fifty dollars that you are drinking a Coke right now!"

Sheepishly, Logan looked at his half-empty bottle of fizzy goodness.

"Would you like that cash or check?" he replied, trying to mask his amusement.

The pair continued to banter until Rory ended the call just as unexpectedly as her initial text message.

"Hey, do you know what the plastic things on the end of shoelaces are called?"

The question did not throw him as much as one would think. In the nine or so hours he had gotten to know her he had seen so many sides of her. He looked down to sneak a peek at his shoelaces. He saw the plastic things Rory was referring to and he knew what they were called, but it escaped him at the moment.

"I'm sorry to say I don't," he replied and waited for her triumphant tone to fill his ear, but it didn't.

"Well," she sighed, "Call me back when you find out. I'm curious."

And with that she hung up the phone, leaving him with his thoughts. He stared at his phone, reflecting momentarily on the conversation before wondering if she had a boyfriend. He felt his heart sink a little bit at the thought and scolded himself instantly.

Clearly, he was out of his mind. If she had a boyfriend she wouldn't be calling him for random, semi-flirtatious chitchat. He smiled contently before realizing he had scolded himself for the wrong thing. He was out of his mind for putting so much thought into all of this. Really; he might as well start waxing and reading Cosmopolitan!

He fixed his gaze on the window once more and noticed that his exit was drawing near. He was about to see Mitchum and for him to have any chance he needed to prepare mentally, which meant that the mysterious girl needed to be out of his mind. He popped open the mini-fridge and quickly located the friend he could always count on: Mr. Flasky.

He eyed his soda and rubbed his hands together. He had left the perfect amount of soda to mix. He quickly downed his concoction, welcoming the familiar burn of the alcohol at the back of his throat and sighed as he felt the numbness take over.

* * *

The car pulled up at the Huntzberger Estate and Logan was pleased. He was numb enough not to think about Birkin and he had consumed the exact amount necessary to drown out Mitchum's harsh tone. He slowly walked up to the door, knowing Frank would deal with his bags. The maid ushered him through the foyer, straight to his father's office.

"It's about damn time," Mitchum boomed, looking up from his papers. "Sit down."

"Hey, Dad," Logan said flatly. "Long time, no see. I'm good. The flight was actually quite pleasant. Thanks for asking," he muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"What's that?" The older Huntzberger questioned with his tone boarding on anger.

"Nothing, sir."

"That's what I thought," Mitchum rolled his eyes. "I don't have time for your shenanigans. This is an important time in your career and a pivotal part in the company's history!"

"I know," Logan said, nodding to emphasize that he understood what his father was telling him.

"So, the service starts at 11 o'clock. The Montgomery's, Fairchild's and Hamilton's are all said to be in attendance and these are our prime investors for the next quarter…."

"Uh, I'm sorry," Logan shook his head, "What service?"

Mitchum shot his son an incredulous look. "The cremation!" he exclaimed, "try to keep up, son."

Logan stayed silent for a moment as he listened to his father ramble on about pitches and propositions. He was out of his mind! "I'm sorry," he interrupted, "Isn't this your best friend's cremation we are talking about?"

Mitchum simply raised his eyebrows, as if to ask what Logan's point was.

He swallowed, knowing his father would scold him for voicing his opinions. "Don't you think it's just a little unethical to do business are your best friends cremation?"

Logan watched hesitantly as his father took a sip of coffee. "London has made you soft, boy," he dismissed his son's concerns. "It's been discussed and Richard wouldn't have had it any other way."

"Dad…"

"I don't have time for this," Mitchum interjected. "Skip the cremation and attend the wake. I don't care as long as you bag the investors by the end of the day…." He trailed off, wrapped up in the paperwork spread out over the desk.

"I just think it would be disrespectful. I didn't know the man," Logan tried to explain his reasoning to Mitchum, but he had already lost interest.

"Read these," he said dully and handed Logan a heavy binder. "Be on time. I don't want to look like a fool."

Logan was stunned by his father's inability to show emotion. He took the binders and waited for Mitchum to continue, but he didn't.

"You are dismissed."

* * *

It was two o'clock in the morning and Logan lay flat on his bed wide awake. After the semi-successful meeting with Mitchum, Logan took a shower, ate some dinner and flicked through the binder, hoping that sleep would come. However, his jetlagged body protested heavily and out of sheer boredom he read the binder from start to finish…twice. He even had gone so far as to make notes in the margins. Granted, this was in part to do with his promise to keep a certain blue-eyed, brown-haired, Birkin-toting beauty as far from his thoughts as possible.

The sudden buzz of his phone brought him from his indeterminate state. Maybe Finn was calling to make sure he got in okay, but he doubted that seeing that is was 9.00 pm in London and his friend was probably holed up in the pub. He was surprised to see her number flash up on screen.

"Can't sleep?" he asked lazily, rolling back onto the bed.

The other line remained quiet.

"Hello?" he asked again.

"I…" her voice cracked slightly. "I didn't know who else to call…"

He shot straight up. She sounded distant and hurt, as if she had been crying. Immediately, he wondered if the boyfriend he imagined broke-up with her.

"It's fine, B. What's wrong?"

The line remained quiet, save for a few sob soaked deep-breaths, confirming Logan's suspicion that she had indeed been , he would kick the boyfriend's ass!

"Uh," she paused, "I was wondering if you could tell me a good story."

"A good story?" he asked, slightly skeptical. What type of girl called in the middle of the night, sobbing, just to hear a good story?

"I've had a rough night," she explained in a small voice. "I knew you'd be up because of the jet-lag…" She waited a beat. "I just wanted to hear your voice," she added embarrassed.

Logan could practically feel her blushing. He did not exactly know what to make of the situation. He wanted her to come to him, but he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit uneasy at her plea. Nevertheless, he tallied the mental points list he kept and counted another on his side. It was obvious she was in to him. He smiled.

"Sure thing," Logan said as let himself sink under the covers again. "Oh, by the way, 'aglets' is the word you are looking for."

"I know," she responded, her tone much less worn than before. "I was just testing you."

"I see," Logan smirked. He didn't know if she was being truthful, but he was not in the mood to push her. "So, what kind of story would you like to hear?"

Logan continued talking to her until he heard her breathing even out. He paused, checking to see if she was asleep. He listened to her breathing steadily and he felt sleep overtake his body. It had been a long day, after all.

* * *

_So? Why is Rory freaking out? Why is she turning to Logan and more importantly.... wil she still do so after the events next chapter?! I'll try to update asap! :) _


	6. Round Six: Not Good

**Round Six: Not Good**

_Here's hoping this lives you to your (high?!) expectations. I know all these reviews definitely raised the bar for me! Thanks for the challenge and keep in mind its AU! Love and enjoy!_

* * *

"I'll take two."

The bartender did not rush to fix Rory's drink order. Instead he gave her a confused look. He had been instructed to serve one at a time and he was sticking to his orders. Obviously, he did not know who stood before him.

She shot him a pressing look, silently urging him to fix her gin-and-tonic without questioning. The girl let out an agitated sigh as she realized he wasn't budging. What was it with people denying her the drinks she so desperately needed?

The troubled girl let out a dull sigh and scratched her forehead distractedly. "Look, I'm a Gilmore-Hayden. We organized this thing. You won't get fired for serving the person who is paying you to be here."

Rory was too drained to feel bad about using her last names to get what she wanted. And, right now, all she wanted was those drinks. Was that too much to ask? Apparently, it was as the bartender stood there, stunned by her bluntness. She let out another sigh as she dug through her satin clutch and pulled out a crumpled hundred dollar bill.

The desperation in her tone was all but tangible as she slid the note across the hardwood bar. "Better make it three, okay?"

The barkeep exchanged a quick glance between the distressed socialite and the crinkled green bill. Rory watched as he mentally weighed his options and, like she expected, his greed beat out his professional integrity. She silently took her drinks and snuck out the back entrance, hastily making her way through the French gardens, careful not to spill any of her precious alcohol, to the gazebo.

She liked it there considering it was quiet and nearly invisible from the house. It was a good place to collect her thoughts. Rory held one of her three beverages up to her face and examined it carefully, before taking a large sip, wincing as the alcohol burned on its way down.

This was not good. Not good didn't even begin to define the scope of her situation. She should be inside, eating salmon puffs and drinking a ladylike glass of wine and listening to mourners reminisce about the full and fabulous life her grandfather led, but she couldn't bring herself to it.

Normally, she could play along with the hypocrisy of Society but today it was different. Richard's death broke her family; she ached and all the men were inside talking business and the women were gossiping about her disastrous appearance. No one cared. Celebrating her grandfather's life was obliviously not a priority.

She wiped an angry tear away and blankly stared at the garden as she picked a piece of lint off her black skirt. Daffodils lined the stone pathways, hinting at the first signs of new life. She sighed at the cruel reality and let her thoughts return to Richard.

He would have laughed at the irony of new life on the day of his funeral. She knew her grandfather so well. Ever since she was a child, he stuck up for her, defended her 'scandal child' image. As she grew older she discovered that she and her grandfather shared a love of literature and he was the one who first saw her writing ability. He took great care in nurturing her talent and for that Rory was grateful; however, her grandfather was much more than her writing mentor. He was there for her when she needed him the most. It was not that she couldn't talk to her mother, but her grandfather offered a new perspective and great advice. He was her benchmark; if Richard was proud she knew she had done right.

She started on her second drink, savoring the burning sensation on her tongue before swallowing. Rory doubted that Richard would be proud of her today after tainting her speech with jumbled words and clichés. She knew he wouldn't mind an uninspired tribute; however drunkenly telling everyone that she called up a 'Blond God' to get her through the night and advising everyone to find his or her own 'Blond God', before bursting out in heart wrenching sobs was sure to earn her a posthumous disappointed looks from her grandfather.

Rory shut her eyes in embarrassment, releasing a few more of her pent up tears. She placed her glass next to her and rubbed her temples gently, hoping to alleviate the building headache. This was not good.

She knew she would be the source of gossip for months to come, but she didn't mind. Society relentlessly talked about her behind her back anyway. It came with her territory of being a Gilmore-Hayden heir; add to that her scandal child beginnings and her rebellious teenage years. She was always the tittle-tattle of the town. What mattered was that she allowed him – Logan - to taint her speech on a day that should have been dedicated to her loving grandfather's memory. How had he managed to seep in?

Dropping her head in frustration she groaned softly, as she distractedly rested her hand on the back of her neck, massaging it gently.

It was not like she had the best track record in love anyway. She tried it once, which crashed and burned. In a twisted attempt to get back at the ex – 'He-Who-Didn't-Love-Me-Back' - she created a party girl persona, complete with a string of meaningless hook-ups. Rory found out quickly that she was a commitment girl and stepped out of the game completely. She spent the last two years of college fully engrossed in her studies and emerging career.

It astounded her grandfather, since Rory was so confident in other areas of her life, but when it came to love she was clueless. She feared gold-diggers and commitment. A simple 'Let's dance?' sounded like a marriage proposal in her ears. On top of that, she couldn't help compare prospects to 'He-Who-Didn't-Love-Me-Back'.

She sighed heavily and took a small sip of her drink. She was nursing it, trying to make it last as long as she could since she dreaded going back inside.

It had been ages that she had thought about the sorry state of her love life. She knew perfectly well why she had let herself get caught up in the blond-haired boy. He was her distraction for the flight, something to keep her from falling apart at 30,000 feet. She wasn't supposed to like him, but there was something about him that intrigued her. The way he spoke certain words with a slight British affectation, that his eyes were surprisingly warm for someone from his background. She couldn't neglect how easily their conversation flowed and how relaxed he made her feel. It was a nice change of pace from her usual crimson cheeks and tongue-tied approaches at flirting.

Rory groaned inwardly as she replayed the events in her mind. It was not getting any better. Her father arranged an escort off the plane so she couldn't make a clean exit. No, instead she had to carry on the flirtatious banter and practically kiss him!

She almost choked on her drink thinking about that almost-kiss. What the hell had she been thinking? That he was that interested? That she thought she was in his league? She didn't know, but she resigned to her basket-case-being. She was an emotional roller coaster no man would voluntarily want to ride. Oh god, she had no business even thinking about him riding her….

There were no words to define the mess she had gotten herself tangled in. She buried her hands in her face as her humiliation grew by the minute recalling yesterdays' events. She was the initiator. She was the one who called and texted. Even though he welcomed her reaching out she couldn't help squirming in her seat as she thought about it. The first text wasn't so bad, but the falling asleep phone call was so far out of line, so desperate and needy.

"I'm independent," she told her gin-and-tonic, before crossing her right leg over her left in an attempt to get a little more comfortable on the hard wooden bench. "Miss Independent," she added for good measure and scolded herself for letting him consume so much of her time. When did she start doing that? Since "He-Who-Didn't-Love-Me-Back" she had never let a boy captivate her.

She wondered what Richard would say if he could see her now. Would he be upset with her for not thinking about him and letting her thoughts wander to an attractive young man she barely knew? Or would he tell her not to let herself get caught up in whatever she thought she was feeling and instead focus on her career? Or would he tell her to embrace it?

A wistful look appeared on her face as she could only guess his answer. She looked down at her now empty glass and the two empty glasses on either side of her, hoping they would contain some answers, but they didn't. She leaned back, resting her head on one of the wooden poles. The only conclusion she had come to, was that this whole mess of a situation was not good. In fact, it was bad…very, very bad.

* * *

It wasn't the atmosphere one would expect at a wake. Champagne flowed freely, waiters carried hors d'oeuvres around on big silver platters and attendees were talking and laughing. The only thing that gave away the supposedly grave nature of the event was that black was the predominant choice of dress.

Logan scanned the room for familiar faces. It was a little morbid, but he wondered if she would be here. He had been on his brain all morning, ever since he woke up with an uncomfortable pain in his neck and shoulder from clenching his cell to his ear all night. Not that he minded, since falling asleep to the sound of her breathing was the most exhilarating non-sexual experience he had shared with a girl to date. He could not think about defining whatever it was that he felt for her; all he knew as that he wanted to see her again.

The prospect of running into her wasn't the only thing that dragged him out of bed this morning. As much as he despised his father, he knew he was right – this was a defining moment in his career. If Logan had any hopes of breaking out and doing it on his own, he knew he needed to abide Mitchum's rules and if that meant attending a stranger's funeral to mingle, then he'd suck it up even though it seemed a little dishonest and a whole lot disrespectful.

He saw his father smoking a cigar with a Suit and his mother whispering something in some woman's sparkling ear. Neither one acknowledged his presence, so he made his way to the bar to order a stiff drink. Logan would have put money on him being the source of gossip, what with the prodigal son returning at all, but the attendees barely noticed him. Happy to fly under the radar, he took his drink and started to make his rounds.

* * *

No, the London market is not all too different from the American one," he addressed a Suit in his business tone, "HGP saw its profits double and believe me, with you backing this project there is no doubt in my mind HPG will achieve the same results stateside and book a twenty-five to thirty perfect profit for your business this quarter alone…"

He detested shoptalk with ignorant investors, but at least his surroundings helped curb his boredom. He tuned out the Suit who was droning on about numbers and stock reports as he listened in on the conversation between the two ladies next to him.

"Without Richard – bless his soul – the girl won't amount to anything!" The society creature cooed far too happily for such an event. Logan smiled wryly at her tone. "She'll probably fall right back in the party scene…You do know she slept with all the men on the lacrosse team at Chilton, right?"

"Of course I do!" The other society women said, slightly offended. "We all know Richard – may he rest in peace – paid for her stint in rehab, Gloria!" she continued haughtily.

"Stints," the woman who Logan assumed to be Gloria corrected with sneering emphasis on the last S. "Look at her, though. Isn't it utterly tragic to be a spinster at twenty-two? You would have thought with her last name she would have been married by the time she graduated college!"

"Let's not forget she let that wonderful boy walk away," the other voice continued harshly. "Supposedly, he was going to propose, but she turned him down…."

"Oh, I remember, Kitty," the first society wife interrupted, "I was at the Club when it happened! Oh, what a shame! They would have had absolutely beautiful children, what with his curls and her stunning eyes…"

"She does have pretty eyes," Kitty admitted, before adding evilly. "Wonder how much her grandmother had to pay for them…"

"Honestly, Kitty." The first society woman paused to take a sip of her drink, "Emily did not send her to a plastic surgeon, I'm sure if she had the girl would have gotten her nose and breasts fixed at the same time!"

Completely disgusted Logan stopped his eavesdropping. He had no clue who these women were talking about, but he felt sorry for the poor girl. They were at a man's wake! He knew he was being a hypocrite, seeing as he was standing here trying to strike a business deal. Annoyed, he finished off his drink and met his conversation partner's eager gaze.

"So what do you say, Logan?" the Suit asked him, good-humoredly nudging him.

He gave his the man a quick once over. "Yeah, you know what, that sounds good… Might need to run over some details, so fax it to my office and I'll get back to you," Logan spoke with confidence, but he had no clue if his reply was in the vicinity of what the Suit wanted to hear. "We'll do lunch…" he added with an insincere smile.

"Perfect!" The man shook the young Huntzbergers hand enthusiastically. "My secretary will get you those documents tomorrow. I have them in my car, but I wouldn't feel right giving 'em here, you know..." he lowered his voice, "...considering the circumstances."

Logan granted the man an understanding nod, and the Suit laughed loudly and patted him on the shoulder before leaving him.

"Wow," Logan sighed to his empty scotch glass. He decided that he was in dire need of another drink, one containing his two favorite components, namely alcohol and caffeine. As he strode in the direction of the bar, his heart skipped a beat as he eyes landed on the person he had wanted to see.

"Rum and coke," he ordered, his tone laced with self-confidence. He jerked his head in her direction, "And put whatever the lady's having on my tab."

"It's an open bar," she mumbled dully. Her gaze was firmly fixed on the little bowl of nuts on the bar and she wasn't paying close enough attention to recognize his voice.

Once again, Rory managed to effortlessly blow the young Huntzberger's ego. Feeling slightly bemused he took his seat next to her, stealing quick glances at her as he waited for the barkeep to hand them their drinks.

"Here you go, Birkin," he said with a smirk as he handed her a fresh G&T. She looked up this time and momentarily met his gaze, before dropping her head quickly.

"Oh my god."

An uncomfortable grin crept over his face as she soundly absolutely mortified. He did not know if she sat there wishing for the bar to open up and swallow her, or if she was caught off guard by his sudden appearance and was trying to hide her runny mascara by burying her face.

"Hey," he said softly, as he reached out and brushed her arm. "You okay?"

Obviously, she was not okay but he did not know that; he could not have known that and now he was here, in the middle of her personal hell. In fact, his mere existence brought this day to a whole new level of disaster.

And yet, she could not discard the butterflies she felt in her stomach as he continued to look at her intently . And she sat there, like an idiot, with her face on the bar. She owed it to herself to try to fix this situation.

"Yeah," she said slowly, lifting her head up. "I'm just a little surprised to see you here…"

He laughed, "Good surprise?"

She nervously bobbed her head around in contemplation, before attempting to sip her drink. Her hand-eye coordination was a tiny bit off, but she managed to navigate the glass to her lips without a spilling a drop.

"Excellent surprise," she told him. "Never in a million years did I expect to see you here." Even though her words slurred, she sounded completely sincere to him.

"Well, you know what they say, B…"

"No, what?"

He gave her an award-winning smile, before leaning in closely, letting her know his words were meant for her ears only.

"We only part to meet again."

She chuckled softly. "Very clever," she admitted as she pointed her finger at him, before pulling back as another pang of realization hit. "It's not always true…"

"What did you say?" he asked, as he lightly touched her arm, inadvertently forcing her to look at him.

Her eyes flew to his as she desperately told her drunk-self not to explain her previous statement. She was embarrassed enough as it was for her desperate actions; she did not need to give him anymore reason to think she was a basket case. Instead, she focused on his features, granting herself a few moments of drunken ogling. His hair was slightly ruffled, but he was clean shaven and bright-eyed. She would have never guessed he stayed up half the night talking to her.

"Hot. I said hot. You look...hot," she swallowed, mentally kicking herself at every word. Wasn't she trying to avoid cringe-worthy situations?

A bright smirk appeared on his face as she spoke to him. He knew she was drunk, but he also knew that intoxicated people were practically incapable of lying. His ego inflated back to its normal size as he mentally tallied the points.

"You look pretty good yourself, Burke," he complemented smoothly, though it was entirely true. Granted, her figure-hugging black dress was stunning, but she looked drained. Logan wondered if it was because of the jet-lag or maybe it was just her drunk personality. He himself tended to become a daredevil and aggressive, maybe she became depressed?

"You want to go get some coffee?" Logan asked suddenly, hoping that'd help her sober up.

Instead of a witty quip or enthusiastic nod, she looked away, making it clear that she was offended by his suggestion. "No."

"Okay," he shrugged, slightly taken aback at the harshness in her tone. "I just thought that the coffee place on First would be a lot nicer than here…" he trailed off, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

He saw her jaw tighten as she swiftly slammed her glass on the hardwood bar. "We are at a wake!" she whispered angrily at him "Are you serious?"

"I was being serious," he laughed awkwardly, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Am I okay?" The emotion in her tone had disappeared as she repeated his question slowly. He watched her eyes shift back and forth nervously as if she was mentally weighing her options.

Meanwhile, Rory's heart pounded rapidly as she realized that bad had gotten a whole lot worse. He was not supposed to be here. He was on a business trip. She felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. He _lied_ to her. He was _exactly_ like one of them; a sycophant of Society.

Still waiting for her to answer, Logan gave Rory a puzzled once-over as she cautiously put one of her Prada-heeled feet on the floor. She prodded around a few times in what he assumed was an attempt to see if she would be able to keep her balance, once standing.

Rory practically knocked over her barstool as she stood up. He jumped up immediately and grabbed hold of her. "Hey! Where do you think you're going, B?" He smiled at her, but she childishly turned her head away.

"Let me go," she ordered in a surprisingly sober and hushed tone.

"I'd let you go, but you can't stand," he whispered discreetly in her ear. Logan knew that standing in the crowded bar area would earn them a few unwanted suspicious glares.

A shiver went down her spine as Rory tried to ignore his hot breath tickling her neck. "Not your problem," she told him curtly, "Let me go!"

She started to pry herself from his grip as she was well aware they were drawing attention.

"Rory, come on," he tried, but she continued to try to wiggle out of his embrace. Logan let out a heavy sigh as he let her go. Immediately and without looking back the distressed girl walked off. His mind told him to let her go; let her be. As if he should care about a girl he knew less than twenty-four hours? Nevertheless, his feet followed her direction.

"Damn it, Logan!" she hissed as she whipped her head around. 'Go away!"

Maybe it was the desperation lacing her tone, or the sweet sadness he saw in her eyes, but he grabbed her hand and led her through the back entrance out to her so familiar gardens, taking her all the way to the seclusion of the gazebo.

He observed her as she stood as far away from him as possible in the gazebo. Her back was turned, so he couldn't see her bottom lip quivering. The Huntzberger lad was genuinely stunned since he couldn't figure out what exactly had happened in the few short hours since they last spoke. He was torn between consoling her and just leaving.

"Go," she dully made up his mind for him. "Just go."

His stomach tightened as her words sounded so cold and distant. Instead of leaving, he walked over to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Rory's breath hitched at his touch and she hoped he hadn't noticed. He was making this impossibly hard. "Just go," Rory told him once again, as she turned to look at him. "Your prospects are waiting."

"They'll wait…" he answered causally as he held her gaze.

"Get the hell away from me," she interrupted, he voice rising with every word. "You lied to me!"

Logan tried to interject, but she shot him down immediately. "Try a wedding next time you want to network with your cronies stateside, asshole!"

He frowned unsure as to why he deserved this kind of treatment. He reached out for her hands, trying to calm her down, but she aggressively swatted them away. "Rory!"

"Don't talk to me," she hurled at him. "Are you that dense, Logan? Or just that desperate to get laid?"

"Excuse me?" he choked out, taken aback by her crudeness.

She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrow. "I'm not sleeping with you. Not today, not ever," she informed him. "So cross me off your 'List of Ass' and leave me alone!"

"But…"

"I don't want to hear it. I know your type – business, sex and booze. That's all you need, right? You don't care who you hurt or what you have to do to get it. You acted like you didn't care about your status, but you can't fool me." She paused her rant to inhale deeply, hoping it would stop the tears that threatened to fall. "You are just like one of them!"

"Are you done?" he asked her, forcefully stepping closer to her. In any other situation he would have walked away from a girl that dared chew him out, but he was inexplicably drawn to her. Logan could have reached out for her hands, but he knew she would swat them away. "Look at me, Rory. Look at me!"

She slowly turned her head and once again met his gaze. The boy that had stirred her thoughts did not look as mad as she thought he would, which made it a hundred times more difficult to stay mad at him.

"Rory, I am neither dense nor desperate," he told her calmly as a small smirk appeared on his face, but he quickly wiped it away. "I am here on business, yes, and it's not right it's during a funeral, but this is the way Society works…" he explained softly.

Her erratic breathing had almost returned to normal, but Logan couldn't stop his so-called comforting words. "You'll just have to let it go…."

"Let it go?" she howled at him, her voice cracking in raw emotion. "Let it go? That's my grandfather!" She pointed at the main house as tears spilled down her cheeks. "This is for my grandpa," she managed to choke out before he stepped forward and embraced her. She struggled a little at first; desperately trying to break out of his strong grip, but he did not let her and she relented to being encircled by his arms, as he gently stroked her hair and whispered apologies and soothing words in her ear.

His heart broke for the poor girl as she clenched his suit tightly as she let out heart wrenching sobs and realization set in. This was Rory Gilmore, granddaughter of Richard Gilmore, his father's best friend and biggest investor of the Huntzberger Publishing Group. In a different world it might have been odd he didn't know her, but not in his. He lived overseas and he only spoke to his father about business.

"I'm so sorry, Rory," he whispered in her hair, which caused her to cry even louder. He hugged her tighter and noted how perfectly they fit together, before that thought caused his stomach to tighten in anxiety.

He was here, in some garden, consoling a girl he only really knew by name. Granted, he might have felt pangs of attraction for the girl he called Birkin. Cool, quirky, puzzling Birkin but Rory Gilmore was a different girl. He didn't know much about her, but he knew Rory Gilmore was not for him. She was serious, insanely smart and passionate about writing - that was her love. But most of all, she stood here before him, letting herself become completely unraveled.

He wasn't sure if she expected him to help pick up the pieces and he wasn't all too sure he wanted to stick around and find out. He had signed up for flirty and fun and nothing serious. And this, right here, the suit-clenching hug and burying her head in his chest, defined serious for Logan Huntzberger. This wasn't good, he thought to himself as he absentmindedly placed another comforting kiss on top on her head. In fact, it was bad…very, very bad.

* * *

_Sorry to end on a dramatic note and congratulations to all who suspected the death was Rory's grandpa! And cowgirl8016, I did my best to steer clear of 'rude' Logan. I've given you some more background on Rory's situation, so I hope that's answered some of your questions. Let me know if you want it to be more Logan-centric or this kind of third person dealio works for you and don't worry it is a Rogan – it's the only thing I know how to write. Ha! _

_Any other questions feel free to PM me! Okay – really hoping you all like this. Fingers crossed! _


	7. Round Seven: Breakeven

****

Thank you so much for all the reviews – really can't say it enough! Here's hoping you like this, I'm not sure I'm thrilled with it. The dramatics at the funeral was a pretty hard place to pick up from and this is also sort of a transitional chapter, I guess… Anyway, it all has a point and it will all tie in together at some point during the story. I hope. Depending if I can finish my term projects and pass my exams (updates will be

_**very **_**sporadic, like always). Ah well, enough rambling – ENJOY! **

**Disclaimer: Don't own GG. **

* * *

From a faraway place, Rory registered the harsh sunlight peeking through her curtains. Still in her half-comatose state she let out a muffled groan and attempted to shift her position away from the intruding sun. However, as soon as she moved a rhythmic pounding penetrated her brain and her bed had inexplicably started to rotate ever so slightly.

She was hung-over. Her muddled morning, caffeine-deprived brain was not capable of figuring out why she found herself wishing she had not consumed enough alcohol to open a small bar, so instead she focused on keeping her eyes firmly shut, lying completely still as she clenched her comforter, hoping intensely that the sudden nausea would fade.

"Hon?"

Rory groaned inwardly at the deafening knock. She should have known Lorelai would be waiting with a homemade hang-over concoction, she always was. Still, Rory couldn't understand why her mother needed to talk so damn loud.

"I'm coming in."

Lorelai didn't have the patience to wait for her daughter to reply and barged into her room, making her way to the window. It felt like someone was drilling a nail into her skull with each click of Lorelai's heels and with one swift movement, Rory's bedroom was flooded in sunlight and the instant burst of light proved too much for her. She jolted up, covering her mouth with both her hands and sprinted to her bathroom.

Rory shuffled back into her room and glared at her mother, who was patiently sitting in the windowsill. She knew she looked like a hot mess. Her hair was tangled and sticky from yesterday's hairspray, she was clammy, her make-up was smeared and she was wearing a blue tank-top, her pink and green polka-dot hipsters and, for some reason unbeknownst to her, pantyhose. Luckily, Lorelai understood and there was not a trace of anger on her face as she handed her daughter a glass of greenish liquid.

"Here, drink this."

"What is it?" Rory managed to croak and she winced as she tasted the stale alcohol and fresh vomit on her breath.

"Daddy's Special Power Potion, proved to cure even the most powerful hang-over's'!" Lorelai smiled brightly and nodded encouragingly for her daughter to take a sip. "It's still patent-pending, but your father and I both agree it's a snazzy tagline. I think we'll get Lindsay Lohan as a spokesperson…" she trailed off as Rory made a face at the taste of the drink.

"Oh god," Rory groaned as she gingerly sat down on the edge of her bed. "This is the worst hangover drink you've made me."

Lorelai shot her daughter a wry smile. "Yeah, but it works," she sighed, taking a seat next to her. "I know, Christmas Party of '03…"

Rory bobbed her head as she remembered the disastrous party her mother was referring to as she eyed the concoction suspiciously. "What' is in this?"

"Lime Jello, a tablespoon of mayonnaise and a shot of Tabasco."

"Right," she sighed heavily, before downing the rest of the powerful potion. The mother-daughter duo sat in silence for a few moments. Even though Rory was relatively awake and functioning, Lorelai knew last night's events hadn't hit Rory yet.

She turned to her and brushed a few sticky hairs off her daughter's grimy forehead. Rory stole a confused glance at her mother's saddened eyes. "Today we wallow," Lorelai stated simply.

Lorelai's empty sounding words stung in her ears as she remained silent. She wished the soft pounding in her head would stop – just for a minute – so she could figure out what triggered their wallowing session. Her breath hitched as realization set it. It hit her hard; almost as hard as that unexpected phone call that prompted this all.

Her grandfather was dead and cremated. Gone. Flashes of society figures and G&T's flitted through her mind, but one image kept coming back. Logan. His messy blonde hair, captivating chocolate eyes and the endless stream of tears - her tears to be exact.

She had absolutely no recollection of leaving her grandfathers funeral, or what had actually transpired after she'd fell into Logan's arms. By the look her mother was giving her, Rory figured Lorelai had at some point taken over the consoling duties from him. She imagined he'd been grateful to hand her over to the one person who was required to love her unconditionally, leaving him to flee the scene guilt free.

"Yeah," Rory nodded slowly in agreement, "wallow."

Lorelai and Rory shared a few moments of silence, both engrossed in their own thoughts.

"Hey Mom?" Rory asked suddenly and she turned her head to face her mother.

"Yeah, kid?" Lorelai replied through a tired sigh. It was clear she hadn't gotten much sleep last night and at times like this, coffee really could not fix everything.

"What happened last night?" It was not that she was looking forward to Lorelai's detailed recap of Richard Gilmore's funeral; however, she needed to know what happened.

"Grandpa died," Lorelai answered, her tone still laced with traces of disbelief. "So we had a good old-fashioned Hartford Going Away Party. Your dad babysat your grandmother and I babysat society."

Rory bit her bottom lip harder as the guilt washed over her. She should have been there; babysitting her grandma or helping her mom and not causing more problems.

"I…" she started to apologized, but Lorelai raised her hand to stop her. "Don't worry about it, hon; your speech was enough to make up for it. Definitely one to tell the grand-chickens one day…"

Even though it was a sad moment, a glimmer of amusement sneaked through Lorelai's tone. Rory shook her head slowly in embarrassment. "It was that bad?"

"Oh yeah," Lorelai confirmed with a solid nod, "You forget you get mope-y drunk like your Dad, and not fun drunk like me…"

"Yeah…"

"I didn't know you knew Mitchum's son," Lorelai said, segwaying to the next part of the story.

"I don't."

"Well," Lorelai drew out, "You found comfort in his arms last night. I had to practically pry you away from him."

Rory's eyes went wide in shock. "Logan is a Huntzberger? Like, Logan-I-am-Mitchum-Huntzberger-The-King-of-All-Media-son's- Huntzberger?"

"Can't get any more Huntzberger that than, sweets…"

Rory groaned loudly as she dropped her head in her hands. With her track record, she shouldn't have been surprised he was a Huntzberger. She knew not to believe everything she heard at the Club, but according to her grandfather Mitchum's son was a reckless boy who funded his life of parties and girls with the trust Mitchum worked incredibly hard for.

Lorelai rubbed a comforting hand over her daughter's back, and she couldn't help being confused by her daughter's frenzied behavior.

"So, you got a little emotional, big deal," Lorelai reassured Rory, "He'll be back on a plane to England tonight and you won't have to see him again. Not soon, at least…"

Rory slowly looked up, meeting her mother's gaze. "But he's APB," she said softly.

In the midst of all the funeral preparations, Lorelai stole a few minutes of alone time and a quick cup of coffee with Rory and asked her about the flight home. Rory had responded casually that a hot guy took her mind of her traveling fears, though Lorelai could tell that her daughter wasn't as indifferent to the Airplane Boy as she let on and thus the acronym APB was born.

Lorelai let out a heavy sigh; it never occurred to her that APB-Logan was also Logan-Huntzberger-Logan. She continued to rub comforting circles on her back. "It's not that bad – I'm sure Logan understands you were upset…"

Rory remained silent as continued to nibble on her bottom lip. Her mother didn't know the whole story because there had not been enough time to discuss it in great depth. The whole plane ride and events thereafter was definitely something that needed to be analyzed over pizza and Chinese food. Though, did she really want her mom to know all the cringe-worthy details?

"I'm pretty sure I blew my nose on his shirt," she told her mother.

"Would this be before or after vomiting on his shoes?" Lorelai asked raising her left eyebrow in mild-amusement.

"I vomited on his shoes?"

Lorelai gave her daughter a short nod and Rory dropped her head in her hands yet again. She felt the uncomfortable sensation of embarrassment form in the pit of her stomach and she forced herself to stop it. It was done. Whatever it was between her and Logan was finished.

She let him seep into her thoughts during the funeral, but no more. He was a Huntzberger, a business doing Huntzberger and it was obvious he was not interested in her. And even if he had been, he couldn't be anymore. Snot, vomit and tears usually sent guys running in the other direction, or in her case, passing her drunken ass to her tired mother and mouthing apologies as he silently left the gazebo. Rory sighed heavily as she realized it didn't matter either way. Like her mother said, Logan was heading back to London.

"Grandpa is dead," Rory said softly, stressing each word.

"Yes."

"Today we wallow." Rory said with tired determination in her tone as she rested her head on her mother's shoulder. First, she would shower to wash away yesterdays' drama, then she would put on her favorite sweats and curl up to her mother on the couch to remember her grandfather in true Gilmore Style, complete with red vines and a million movies. She would allow herself today to weep and feel sorry for herself. She would do all of that, but she needed to say goodbye to Logan first.

* * *

It was early the following afternoon as Logan quickly made his way down the stairs of his father's mansion. He dropped his duffel bag by the door and headed for the kitchen. He had just enough time to grab a soda, before the car-service arrived to take him to the airport, where a private jet would take him to secure London. He'd be flying with some Suits, but it was a small price to pay for his clean break from the craziness of Hartford.

As he entered the kitchen, he was surprised to see Mitchum standing at the counter, flicking through a magazine. "You are welcome to stay another day," he said, without taking his eyes off the paper.

"Thanks for the offer," Logan said, slightly suspicious of his father's seemingly warm tone, "But I'd rather attend tomorrow's meetings in person than conference call in…" It was a lie, since he was really just trying to escape the intenseness of the last two days.

Mitchum hummed approvingly, before looking up and pointing at the soda can his son held in his hand.

"You want one?" Logan asked as he handed it over, taking another can from the fridge for himself, before turning to leave the kitchen.

"I was watching you yesterday…"

His father's words stopped him dead in his tracks. He craned his neck; "Really?" and noted that he couldn't hide the surprise in his tone.

"Don't sound so astonished. It's unbecoming," Mitchum informed him, before giving his son a barely visible smile. "I saw you talk to Bill Anderson. If he could, old Billy-boy would have signed right there, which is very rare for him." He sighed. "I should know. I've been trying to get him to back that project for the last four months…"

Logan cocked his head to the side. It had been a long time since Mitchum had given a compliment.

"I knew the London Publication would be good for you," he continued as a wry smile appeared on Logan's face. That was his Dad, skillful enough to take his praise away in a few nonchalantly spoken words. Mitchum took another sip of his soda, "Make sure you keep it up." It sounded nice enough but Logan knew it was a silent threat.

He gave his father a quick nod, mumbled thanks and started to walk away, but Mitchum called him back.

"Not so fast, son." The slyness with which is father spoke caused Logan to turn his head around and meet Mitchum's gaze dead on.

"Yes?"

"Rory Gilmore was here this morning…" Logan felt his eyes widen to the size of saucers as his heart pounded in his throat. He never told her he was a Huntzberger, so how in the world did she find out who he was, and more to the point, why was she showing up at his house?! "I did not know you were acquainted with the girl," Mitchum continued, ignoring the shocked look on his son's face.

"I am not," Logan said, swallowing as his mouth suddenly felt very dry. "I mean, I hardly know her."

Mitchum glared at his son skeptically. "Your mother says you consoled her at the wake…"

Logan shrugged as if it didn't matter to him, like holding random girls in his arms as their tears and smudged make-up stained his shirt was an everyday occurrence. Obviously, it did matter to him, especially since his mother, the gossip queen of the Club, suspected something.

"In any case, she was here this morning…"

"Looking for me?" Logan interrupted, with certain urgency lacing his tone.

"Don't flatter yourself," Mitchum told him lightly. "She told the maid to give you this." He handed Logan a case of coca-cola. It was an ordinary fridge-pack with a pieced of folded light-blue paper taped to the top.

Logan was about to tell his father to keep it. Really, he needed to stop thinking about Rory Gilmore. He convinced himself his initial attraction was caused by the high altitudes and yesterday was a jet-lagged induced lapse of judgment. The whole thing was just too much, too fast, just too…

He was headed to London, making a clean break and frankly, had no intention of talking to the blue-eyed girl again. Yet, he let curiosity get the better of him one last time as he took the case from his father.

Under Mitchum's inquiring eyes he opened the note.

"_Fact: every second over seven thousand coca-cola products are consumed." _

It was by far the strangest thank-you note he had ever gotten. For one, it lacked the two words that were imperative in such a note, it didn't address the thing she was thanking him for and she did not sign her name. He studied the carefully penned words once more.

"She's Richard's granddaughter," Mitchum warned as Logan pulled the smile he wasn't aware he was wearing in to a frown.

He knew all right, as his thoughts slipped back to last night's dramatics. Logan also knew that his father's statement implied Richard Gilmore's granddaughter was off-limits. Mitchum did not know his son very well, but he was well aware of his playboy status.

"I know," he told his father as he folded up the no-frills note and stuck it in his jacket pocket. If there was one thing he would not go to battle on with Mitchum, this was it. Once he was out of sight, Rory would be out of mind and Logan would return to his normal life.

"Good." Mitchum gave him a short nod so as to underscore their understanding. "Make sure you send a thank-you note in return," the elder Huntzberger told his son, "It's important the Huntzberger-Gilmore bond stays intact. I don't want anything as trivial as an unsent note tarnishing the relationship."

Logan blinked at his father, hating that the man was right. In his world, a forgotten thank-you could lead to a feud. "I'll have my secretary arrange it tomorrow."

Mitchum nodded approvingly, before pointing at the clock. "Your car is waiting."

* * *

The return flight to the land of fish, chips and lager was uneventful, something that Logan was extremely grateful for. He gladly listened to the two ostentatious business associates discuss stock prices and communication strategies as Logan quietly sipped his rum-and-cokes. It did not matter if the men had been discussing the benefits of wholegrain toast – he was just relieved there were not any bug-eyed sunglasses wearing Birkin toting girls and flirtatious rounds of twenty questions to distract him. Nevertheless, the nagging feeling of being a jerk followed him to his penthouse door, where he stood now, fumbling with his keys.

"Mate!"

Logan dropped his keys in surprise as his Australian friend stood in the doorway, dressed in nothing but a bathrobe and a beer in hand. He quickly picked-up his keys, brushed passed his friend and headed to his room. He loved Finn, but his impromptu male-pajama parties were not something Logan enjoyed. Especially not when he was dealing with jet-lag, guilt and the incredible urge to dial a certain set of numbers that he had unwillingly memorized… He thought he needed peace, though in retrospect that didn't have the desired effect. Maybe he should just get drunk.

"What brought you here, Finn?" Logan asked in a far better mood than before as he returned from his bedroom a few moments later.

"Mate," the Australian boy said solemnly as he looked up from his magazine. "Jenna kicked me out. I knew agreeing to move in with her was a bad idea…"

"Especially since you knew her all of two days," Logan shook his head in disbelief, "I thought her name was Tamara?"

"No, Tamara broke my heart last week," he cried dramatically.

"I see," Logan couldn't help but smirk at his friends troubles. "And explain why you couldn't nurse your broken heart at your own place?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Finn asked in honest amazement.

Logan rolled his eyes and pulled out two beers from the fridge, before taking a seat in the recliner next to him. "You can stay as long as you want, but refrain from reading Play Girl on my couch…naked."

He held out the beer, waiting for Finn to take it and seal their agreement.

"I'm not naked," Finn replied offended as he gestured to his chest, "I'm wearing a bathrobe."

He ignored the fact that he was not wearing anything else, just as he ignored Logan's disbelieving look. "And, I'm not reading Play Girl." Finn held up the magazine for Logan to see. "It's Cosmo!"

Normally, Logan wouldn't have laughed as loud or as long as he did, but after the days he'd had coming home to a semi-naked Finn, drinking beer and reading Cosmopolitan seemed like the funniest thing ever.

"That's golden," Logan said, after he recovered from his laugh attack as Finn took the beer, "Why would you do that?"

"Because," Finn said exasperated as he took a swig of his beer, "To stay on top of the game one must know his audience," he wiggled his eyebrow suggestively.

"Look here, page sixty two…" He cleared his throat and spoke in a deep voice, "Decoding his body language: If he positions his shoulders and chest towards you, it means that you are the most important thing in the room."

He hit the magazine with the back of his hand. "Pure brilliance!" he exclaimed pleased, as if this tidbit revealed all the mysteries of the fairer sex and he tossed the women's magazine on the coffee table.

Logan picked it up and studied the cover carefully, before smirking at Finn. "And you are sure purchasing this glossy magazine had nothing to do with Penelope Cruz on the cover?"

"Only redheads mate," Finn smiled, before taking another sip of his beer.

* * *

A few hours later, Logan shuffled into his bedroom. He was dead-tired, but relaxed. Talking shit and drinking beers with Finn was exactly what he needed after… everything.

He let himself fall on the bed and he was sure he would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow; however, he had forgotten about the blue note on his bedside table. Of course, he had meant to throw it away, but he didn't.

Logan stared at it for a few moments. It was dark, so he couldn't see it very well, but he was contemplating on getting up, turning on the lights and reading it again. It was pointless, seeing as it would not contain any new information; it was just a random fact written in her perfect script. Logan shifted his gaze to his cell phone and thought about calling her – but groaned as that thought entered his mind. How would calling her give him a clean break? Instead, he grabbed his phone, set his alarm and rolled over. Eventually, the Huntzberger boy fell into a restless sleep, though he firmly believed it was because of his jet-lag.

* * *

Rory lie wide awake in bed. She was tired, too tired to sleep. It had been a sad, but good day considering the circumstances. For starters, she was not drunk and that was always a big plus. She spent the whole day eating comfort food and watching movies with her mother. Late that afternoon, Christopher entered with a fresh bag of take-out, which lured Emily from her guest-bedroom retreat. She knew her grandmother would not be returning to her Hartford mansion, even though Emily insisted that her staying with Lorelai and Christopher was temporary.

Aggravated that she could not snuggle into a comatose slumber, Rory rolled over and her gaze met her cell phone. She did not have to look at it to know she did not have any missed calls or messages. Rory figured he would have at least sent a two word text to thank her for the soda, especially since she now knew his last name. But he wasn't calling. And she wasn't supposed to want him to call. Frustrated she rolled over again, closed her eyes tightly and gripping her comforter, she convinced herself that her insomnia had to do with the gallons of coffee she consumed today.

* * *

_Okay. So, we've got a little Rory, a little Logan, a little Lorelai, a little Finn and a little background information. _

_  
PS: Who has ever read the A/N's in NYN knows I live in Europe during the school year (child of divorce, not fancy boarding school like Logan. Ha!) and spend my summers in Florida (except for an internship last year). Anyway, I leave on July 2 and school will be extremely busy untill then; though, I plan on updating before then, but just in case.... Okay. I'm done rambling. Let me know. I'm dying to find out! :) _


	8. Round Eight: Square One

****

Disclaimer: I don't own GG.

**Remember it's AU and ENJOY! **

* * *

Four months ago he had been in the same situation, sitting in an airplane chair, resentfully sipping a beverage as he waited at London Heathrow for his plane to take off. This time around though, he had been able to secure the Huntzberger Jet, so his chair was more comfortable and he was sipping quality rum-and-coke, instead of sparkling white wine that pretended to be champagne. Still, that didn't do much to ease the pain as just like last time, his final destination was Hartford, CT, a place he had banished to the far corners of his mind since Richard Gilmore's unfortunate death.

His perspective on the situation had changed drastically over the past four months. It became clear to him that his clean-break strategy wasn't working. Not that she didn't grant him the freedom he so desperately craved. No, one hundred and twenty days without a single form of contact underscored her disinterest in him. He was the one who didn't allow himself a clean break.

Her smile was forever present in his minds eye and their handful of tantalizing conversations replayed in his mind whenever he had a spare moment.

And yet, fact stood that he had barely gotten to know the girl he called Birkin and all he knew about Lorelai Leigh Hayden-Gilmore was from the Society Gossip Mill and so he pretty much surrendered to his old Bachelor ways, chalking whatever 'thing' he might have thought he had with B up to nothing more or less than the seven hour flight they shared.

"A refill for you, sir?"

The flight attendant took his crystal tumbler before he could respond. If Logan did not know better, he would have thought he was flying commercial, what with how the flight attendants flirted with him. He resented Mitchum for making him fly all the way out for a two-hour meeting. Surely, it could have waited for the Quarterly Meeting in London next month?

Then again, Mitchum did not realize the strain he put on his son as he did not know about whatever it was that Logan had convinced himself he was not feeling for a certain blue-eyed, brown-haired Hartford Beauty. As far as old Mitch was concerned, the funeral consoling was a chance meeting and the appropriate thank-you notes had been exchanged, albeit Logan's came from the desk of his secretary Juliet.

"Here you are, sir."

The flight attendant placed the glass on Logan's tray table, causing him to look up at her. Despite her professional appearance – the tight bun, neutral make-up, unflattering navy-blue jacket adorned with her wings-pin – he could tell she would live up to the clichéd image of a flight attendant. It was the flirtatious look she gave him, the way her hand gently brushed passed his as she placed his drink before him, the glimmer in her eye.

Logan shot her his trademark devilish smirk, which she matched as she sauntered away from him. He knew she would be waiting for him in the bathroom, waiting for him to have his way with her. He smiled wryly in contemplation and decided that he was in the mood for a little distraction.

* * *

Rory's heart practically stopped beating as she made her way through the Huntzberger Publishing Group's lobby. He was standing there, casually, waiting for the elevator, with his hair looking as perfectly ruffled as she remembered and his brown leather briefcase resting at his feet.

There was no doubt in her mind, Rory knew it was him, even though the last time she saw him it was through blurred vision. The guy had taken up permanent residence in the back of her mind for the last four months, with that damn smirk appearing at the most inappropriate moments. That did not stop her from doing a quick double-take, but he was still standing there: the one and only Logan Elias Huntzberger

She scolded herself subconscious-self for using his full-name. Those midnight Huntzberger Google-searches were a bad idea! For a moment, she considered bolting, seeing that in some cases avoidance was better than confrontation, but she couldn't. For one, Mitchum would not tolerate re-scheduling and more to the point her feet had inexplicably started walking towards him.

"Did you know the Romans are credited with the prototype of the elevator?"

Rory could kick herself. Really, who said that to the person they'd secretly been fantasizing about for the past four months? If she'd been thinking rationally she would have gotten mad – or at least aloof – with him for sending her a generic secretary thank-you.

Logan turned to her with a bright smile and a slight look of disbelief on his face. He was flabbergasted - it was really Rory Gilmore standing here before him. Instinctively, he smirked at her while he let his eyes quickly travel her body.

She was wearing a knee-length black pencil skirt with a crisp white blouse tucked-in, which hugged her curves perfectly. With her legs elongated by black stilettos and her hair hung loosely around her shoulder and a tiny glimmer of her diamond studs peeking through, she looked outstanding.

Much better than Logan remembered. The most visible difference was in her eyes, he noted. Last time Logan had seen them, they had been laced with sadness and despair, but today her eyes shined like the diamonds in her ears.

"Of course," he replied, keeping in perfect line with his cool-boy persona, "Any well-traveled man of the world such as myself would know such a thing…" Logan trailed off, hoping she would pick up on the reference to their first meet.

"And yet, you didn't know dangers of international travel…"

A chuckle escaped his lips and he mentally tallied another point on his side – she remembered. His triumph was instantly overshadowed by a nervous guilt. They hadn't spoken in four months and the way he left things was awkward to say the least. Not only that, he tried his damndest to not think about her and his latest tryst with the flight-attendant high above the Atlantic illustrated that…

Logan noticed her furrowed brow and realized that his sudden unease affected her. Not wanting to concern her, he reached out and brushed her arm gently. Her face relaxed and she dazzled him with her warm smile. It would have been a classic Hollywood movie moment, but the unexpected ping of the elevator ruined it.

"Which floor, B?" he asked casually as he followed her into the small square space.

"Fifty-eight." Rory quickly stole a glance at her watch; she was far too early, but her meeting with Mitchum made her nervous.

"Are you sure you don't want to reconsider?" Logan asked with obvious sarcasm in his tone. "You do know that's the Big Man's floor, right?"

She nodded in reply, causing him to raise a curious eyebrow at her. "What about all the sleazy, society business deals…" he stopped mid-sentence as he knew he was completely out-of-line. The last thing he wanted was for her to break down in the elevator.

"It's okay," she assured him with a short not. His uncensored comment brought back memories of her grandfathers wake as well as the harsh accusations she flung at him. "It's not like I'm a corporate snake, anyway…"

"Really?" He looked at her closely and couldn't detect any sign of sadness.

"Nope, I am junior writer for Features," she told him, her tone laced with pride.

"Really?!" Logan couldn't hide his surprise. However, he wondered why she wasn't running the place, what with her last names and connections.

"Impressed?" she asked with a flirtatious smile.

Again, the elevator ping interrupted a moment.

"Well, look who has taken punctuality to a new level?" Mitchum's secretary Marci chuckled happily.

* * *

The plump, white-haired women continued as she shot him an amused look, "You know this means brownie points for you, right Logan?" She picked up a legal pad and jotted down some fake points.

Logan let out a hearty laugh as he quickly made his way over to the reception area of the floor and pressed a kiss on Marci's cheek. He might not see her very often, but their phone relationship was excellent. Marci was a little bit like the grandmother he wished he had, except that she had a feisty and flirtatious streak in her.

"What can I say? I missed you?"

"Oh, don't humor me, put that smirk away," the older women laughed as she pointed her finger at him, "The jet just made good time and you hoped to get an earlier appointment with him so you could take your hot butt right back to David Beckham Land…"

Rory's laughing caught both Marci's and Logan's attention.

"Oh, Rory, I'm sorry – I should have introduced…" But Marci cut him off. "Don't be silly, I've known Rory forever and a day!"

Logan exchanged a curious look between the two women as Rory walked over and embraced Marci. "Bunny, you are growing up too fast and I don't like that," she mock-warned Rory, "It seems like yesterday you were skipping through these halls, holding your grandpa's hand, wanting to be a journalist…"

Rory smiled fondly at the memory and gave Marci another quick hug. "I know I am and I'm attending meetings…." She bit her bottom lip nervously as she felt Logan's inquisitive eyes on her.

"You'll do just fine, honey," Marci told Rory, "You've known Mitchum your whole life; I'm sure this meeting is some protocol or something…Being here an hour and forty minutes early really doesn't calm the nerves either, now does it?"

Marci placed her hand on her hip and shot Rory and Logan an equally stern look, causing them both to exchange a sheepish look.

"Kindred spirits these two," she mumbled to no one in particular as she noticed the chemistry between the Huntzberger heir and Gilmore Girl. Her lips curled into a knowing smile as she placed her left hand on Rory's shoulder and her right on Logan's.

"Why don't you two grab a late lunch at Jake-and-Jacques' across the street?" she suggested with a twinkle in her eye, "They have the best coffee and Lord knows our coffee is crap! Logan, you can tell the lovely Miss Rory all about meetings with Huntzberger…."

Marci practically forced the pair in the elevator and waved at them as the elevator doors closed.

Rory shook her head in slight embarrassment and Logan shot her an amused smirk.

"So, you hungry?"

* * *

Logan and Rory sat in corner booth at the trendy soup-and-sandwich shop across the street from the HPG corporate offices. The atmosphere was awkward at best. It was a little after the usual lunch rush, so the restaurant was quiet and that just underscored the silence between Rory and Logan as each quietly perused the menu.

"This is a little weird, isn't it?" Rory asked after she couldn't bear the tense silence any longer.

Logan shrugged as he took a sip of his soda as she continued. "I mean, the whole plane thing was a little strange, right?" She cocked her head to the side, hoping she didn't sound too obsessive.

"Yes, but we flew commercial…."

She was about to open her mouth and explain herself, but he stopped her by letting out a laugh. "I know what you meant, B," he nodded acknowledging the weird vibes as their conversation came to a halt.

It hadn't been this difficult on the flight, but so much had happened since those enticing seven hours of flight. It was clear to her that he'd changed, or perhaps he was just as nervous about their second chance meeting. She watched him intently as he studied the menu and downed the remaining sip of coffee that was in her mug. It was now, or never.

"I never meant to, uh, stain your shirt…" she blurted out and kept her gaze firmly on him. His features softened as his lips pulled into a small frown, "You were upset. It was Richards funeral…"

"I know. But I had just met you and it must have freaked you out…"

In the romantic movie version of her life, he would have reached for her hand, leaned in, whispered that it was that moment he fell in love with her, before passionately kissing her. However, this was the real-life version of her life and he remained silent.

"Oh god. I freak you out," she mumbled softly, widening her eyes in realization.

"No, no, you don't," he shook his head, "That part did … just a little."

Rory bit her bottom lip in contemplation, as he shot her a hopeful smile. "Maybe we should just start over?"

"Again?"

He shrugged. "Last time. I promise. Don't they say three times the charm?"

She looked at him in disbelief but agreed anyway. "Okay, clean slate. Forget everything we've ever talked about…"

"Wait," he asked in jest, raising his hand, "You were lying to me?"

"I was drunk pretty much the whole time."

He bobbed his head in agreement. "Fair enough. So. Square one, fresh start, no lies…."

Logan held out his hand and she shook it, making their agreement official. He kept his grip on her hand as he flowed right into their agreement, "I'm Logan Huntzberger, son of Mitchum and Shira Huntzberger and sole heir to the Huntzberger Publishing Group."

"Nice to meet you, Logan," she grinned stupidly, "I am Lorelai Leigh Hayden-Gilmore, daughter of Christopher Hayden and Lorelai Gilmore, heiress to the Hayden-Gilmore Insurance Group, but you can call me Rory."

"Pleasure to meet you, Birkin." He paused to take a sip of his Coke. He liked how she responded to his polite society role, not everyone would pick up on the mocking undertones of the exchange, but she did so he kept the bit up.

"Now, may I ask you a few questions?"

She stirred her empty coffee cup in semi-mock contemplation. Really, she didn't want to drop her guard too much, but she also wanted to get to know him better.

"Ten," she responded finally and suppressed a smile at his confused expression. "Ten for me, ten for you makes twenty questions in total, right?"

He smirked at her, once again she had outsmarted him in his own game. He shifted his position on the plastic bench-booth and leaned in a little closer to her.

"Fine, but only if you give a full explanation. None of this coy yes-or-no shit, okay?" he said flirtatiously, slipping out of his society persona.

She coughed at his mild swear, as a dainty socialite might.

"Garbage, I mean," he replied and smiled at her approving nod. Their moment was disturbed by the waiter, who refilled Rory's coffee and Logan's coke and took their lunch orders.

"Okay, now that the fundamentals are out of the way," he said, gesturing at their respective beverages, "I think this game of questions can start."

"Alright."

"Okay. Question one." He locked eyes with her before shooting off the question he'd wanted to ask her since the elevator ride.

"Why are you a journalist at HPG? I mean, why didn't Mitchum give you a better job? You are a Gilmore-Hayden, for crying out loud!"

A bright smile crept over her face. Logan was cute when he rambled. "That's two questions, mister," she teased with a sparkle in her eye. He was about to counter, but realized that he, indeed, asked two questions.

"Good questions, though," she complimented him. Rory remained silent for a moment as she contemplated her answer. "It's a long story, but I'll give you the short script," she told him with a mysterious smile, before starting.

"Grandpa introduced me to the world of books and got me interested in reading and writing. HPG was an account of his, so whenever he had investor meetings I was allowed to come, just to see how a paper was produced…"

"So that's how you know Marci?"

"Yes," she nodded and smiled, "That's three questions so far…."

He smiled back and nodded for her to continue. "So, anyway, he pushed me to write for my high-school paper and later college. I tried to be the Hayden-Gilmore Insurance Heiress, but Grandpa knew that it wasn't my passion, so he talked to Mitchum, who was about ready to offer me a contract for editor-in-chief, but I wanted to do it on my own – you know, make my own name. He wouldn't let me go to a competitor, so he gave me the lowest position there was and that was junior writer for Features. So, in short journalism because it's my passion and, right now, this is the best job I could have."

Logan waited a beat as he processed what he was telling her. From what the Huntzberger boy understood, Rory was very much loved. Not only by her immediate family, but by his Dad, too. Logan was never allowed to tag along to the offices when he was on vacation – even though he knew it was his destiny. He wasn't allowed to figure out what his passion was, let alone choose it.

"I've got to say, B, I'm jealous…" he smiled wryly at her.

She shrugged a little uncomfortably, since her life wasn't something to be jealous of. "Next question?"

"Favorite color?" he asked. It was lame, but he noticed the tension creeping back and wanted to lighten the mood.

"Blue."

"I would have guessed pink," he replied genuinely as he remembered the pink Henley she wore during the flight and the pink Birkin she toted.

"Grandma is responsible for the pink Birkin – I had my eye on the navy blue one…"

"Ah, I see." He let out a tiny chuckle. "Where did you go to college?"

"Yale, but that had nothing to do with the colors," Rory admitted, "Harvard was my dream but….Yale was closer to home."

Logan stared at her suspiciously, knowing that she wasn't disclosing the full truth but he let it slide.

"College wasn't that long ago for you, right?"

"Clever way of asking a women's age, you'll get points for that," she laughed and he joined her. He gave her points, too, for calling him out.

"I'm twenty-two. I graduated a little earlier…" she said, but he interrupted her.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

The whole atmosphere tightened at his question. It was so inappropriate to ask, he knew, but ever since he called her in tears he was dying to know and they hadn't defined the scope of the questions so it was all fair game. Still, as he saw her face contort and her brow furrow he regretted it.

"You don't have to answer that, I'm sorry…" He was quick to apologize, but she waved it away.

"It's part of the game, it's okay."

She paused to take a sip of her coffee and looked at him.

"Did you know that the term 'honeymoon' was used first in the 16th century. The honey is a reference to the sweetness of a new marriage and the moon is not a reference to the lunar-based month, as many think, but actually to a full moon, which quickly fades. Kind of bittersweet, don't you think?"

Rory fixated her gaze on the spoon in her coffee mug, "I've had my fair share of the second part, so no, there's no boyfriend."

She inwardly rolled her eyes for being so open, but at the same time she had already exposed so much of her vulnerability to him.

"Women can talk longer with less effort than men can because women's vocal cords are shorter so they release less air through them to carry sound."

Rory looked at him with a crooked eyebrow and a incredulous grin.

"Oh," Logan shrugged in feigning ignorance, "I thought I would just wow you with my man vs. women and love related facts…"

The atmosphere immediately returned to the happy, flirtatious vibe they had going on as both of them let out a hearty laugh as Logan successfully side-stepped the sticky situation of mentioning the dreaded Boyfriends.

"So, two questions left," Rory looped her index finger around a curly brown strand of hair, "What's it going to be?"

"Don't make it harder than it is, B," Logan playfully scolded, "Let's see.. oh, I've got one. Who is your best friend?"

"Related: my mom and Grandpa," she winced a little at that thought but moved on quickly, "And non-related is Lane and by extension her husband Dave."

Logan dropped his head slightly – he could have known that she was that close to Richard. He had so much he wanted to ask her but his mind was drawing a complete and total blank as her big, blue eyes stared at him in anticipation.

"How old were you when you got totally wasted for the first time?"

Rory's face pulled into a funny smile and he could have smacked himself. From the nine previous questions he asked her, he knew she had integrity; proud of her smarts and what she had achieved so far – she wasn't some wild partier and she probably thought questions like this were offensive.

But, then again, he didn't realize that Rory Gilmore had a wild-side and that there was definite truth in the gossip about her.

"Thirteen," she told him flat-out, "On tequila shots, in my grandparents pool house. They found me and this guy in their hot tub… naked."

Logan's eyes widened in surprise, "No way! Are you serious?"

"Yes." She locked eyes with him.

"Okay then," he smirked, keeping his eyes firmly focused on hers.

The waiter managed to interrupt another possible moment as he brought out their gourmet sandwiches and hand-cut potato chips. Rory ordered an iced-tea and Logan more soda.

"Okay – break from twenty questions," Logan said, as he held his sandwich, preparing to take a bite.

Rory nodded as her mouth was full.

"Good sandwich?" he asked her.

"Not bad," Rory replied after she finished her bite. "A little high lettuce to lunchmeat ratio for my taste. I'm not a health-nut, you know…"

He laughed and agreed to trade her some lunchmeat for lettuce, as he was a health nut. Caffeine and alcohol were his only weaknesses.

"So," Rory sighed as she looked at her meat-packed sandwich. "Thanks for this," she cocked her head at the food, before steering back to her remaining questions to him. "Are you ready?"

"Yep, shoot."

"Okay, question one. Why London?"

"Not much choice," he replied honestly, "My Dad picked, my nanny packed me up and took me to London when I was a kid. She flew back and I stayed behind at boarding school. I flew back for a few summers, but after a few… I made great friends there and they are my family. My life is in London."

Rory looked at him with sympathetic eyes. "I'm sorry," she told him sincerely. "I can't imagine…"

"It's what your used to," he was quick to interject. Logan wasn't looking for sympathy. It was what it was and it was all he knew. He was fine.

"But, if you resent Mitchum so much and consider London your home – why HPG?"

"You mean, like why didn't I give it all the big finger and lead my own life?" he asked, seeking clarification.

"Exactly!"

"Legalities. I'm kind of attached to my trust fund," he ran a hand through is hair.

Rory let out a chuckle, "Me too."

"Good."

"So, how old are you?" she asked, "And put that mock-shock expression away. Women can ask men their age, it's the other way around that's socially unacceptable!"

"Twenty-three," he replied through a laugh.

"And whose your best friend?"

"Finn and Colin, definitely. And Steph, but she came attached to Colin. They're great, though. Known them since we were kids, you know, those first awkward moments, tough times, messing up Swiss chalets on vacations and drinking vodka-limes and nursing each others hangovers the next day. But, legit stuff, too. Like when Stephanie went to California for college and Colin stayed behind… "

Rory looked at him adoringly, happy that he at least had real friends, even though he had a less than desirable family life. "And you've never added anyone to your quartet?"

"Like a girlfriend?" he asked in a teasing voice, which cause a tiny blush to creep over her features. "No," he replied. "Finn and I are content as the bachelor boys."

He silently prayed she wouldn't pry, because he had absolutely no desire to tell her that he and Finn were engaged in a battle of the bed-post notches and he was currently in the lead with a number far past the triple digits.

Rory's eyes twinkled with delight, she had always enjoyed talking to him, but it was so much better when she was sober. "So, what's your passion," she continued casually as she popped a chip in her mouth.

"My passion?"

"Yeah," she nodded enthusiastically, "It's writing for me, for some people it's cooking, for others it's animals…."

"Huh." He clicked his tongue as he thought about his answer, but he couldn't come up with a satisfactory answer. There were a lot of things he liked, sure, but to go and label it a 'passion' was a step too far. "I'll have to get back to you on that one," he shrugged finally.

She couldn't hide the surprise that appeared on her face, but she didn't want to pry and waste the valuable questions she had left. "Okay, so no passion as of yet, maybe a life motto?"

"In Omnia Paratus," he said without thought, "Prepared for anything - we had this thing at Oxford, where I went to college…."

"We had this thing at Yale, too…" she laughed in reply, figuring that the Life-and-Death Brigade at Yale was similar to whatever Brigades they had at Oxford.

"Excellent school, by the way," she complimented him and he responded with a fond nod.

"What's your favorite food?"

"Now that's a hard question," he said in deep contemplation. "Can it be a cuisine?"

She bit in bottom lip flirtatiously and liked how serious he was taking this, "Yeah, sure."

"Okay, favorite cuisine has to be Italian, but I would die without soda, chocolate, apples, hamburgers and fries…."

Rory nodded in agreement, "Best food ever. Hands down."

"It's your last question, B, choose wisely," Logan told her as he popped the last bite of his veggie-sandwich in his mouth.

She hummed in thought for a moment. There was so much to ask, so much to talk about her mind was on the verge of overload. "Do you have a pet?"

"A pet?" Logan repeated, not finding her question odd at all. "Absolutely not, Finn and I lost a pet-rock, anything living would be out of the question!"

After another round of infectious laughter, somehow, the couple now sat with their foreheads almost touching and his hand laid ever-so-gently on top of hers. The waiter came, took their dessert orders and brought fresh coffee for her and a soda for him.

"Good game," Logan said, breaking the amorous vibes. "You had great questions, Ace," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Ace?"

"You may own a Birkin," he told her, "but you are not a Birkin girl. You are an Ace, world-class, first rate…"

"Okay, okay," she waved as she laughed a little uncomfortably. His comment meant a lot to her; he knew now that she wasn't the Society Persona he thought she was. There was depth to her, class, confidence and a sense of realness that enticed him and inspired his new nick name for her.

"Your questions were good, too," she told him, boldly squeezing his hand.

"You didn't ask me about money or status…"

"I have money and status!"

"Or, about why I didn't call or had my secretary write the note…" He shot her a guilty look as in his minds eye he watched all his points tumble to the ground.

She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, "I know why you did it and I get it. It's okay."

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I really am." He continued to gaze at her and it sort of made her nervous. She was sure he was at least a little bit interested in her and she had never quite shared such an intense conversation like that with a practical stranger. It was a little bizarre.

"I think we've both passed our question limit," Rory said as he snapped out of his daze.

"Perhaps," he acknowledged taking a sip of his Coke. "But I've got one more question." He didn't wait for her to grant him permission – he needed to get this off his chest right now, before he kicked himself for being stupid and breaking his rules. "Would you want to go out with me?"

"Like a date?" she asked a little hesitantly. He nodded, with hopeful eyes as he felt a tiny ball of anxiousness form in the pit of his stomach and he briefly wondered if this was what rejection felt like, but she didn't shoot him down.

Instead she bit her bottom lip coyly and nodded enthusiastically, "I'd love to."

Huge, insane smiles appeared on both their faces and both were about to speak, but the loud buzzing of a cell phone interrupted them.

Logan groaned and looked at his cell. It was Mitchum and the clock in the corner of his cell let him know that he was about two hours late for his meeting…..

**

* * *

**

What did you think?

**I noticed a drop in the reviewers for the last two chapters and ****some reviews requesting for more information about their pasts. It's your story as much as mine so I thought long and hard for a way for it to come together in a semi-creative way and the result is chapter 8. **

**I guess its just important to know that Logan and Rory are complicated with complicated (romantic) pasts, but as of this chapter they are both ready for dating! Exciting! **

**I hope I got that across and that you liked it!! Anyway questions about this story, other stories or anything else just ask me (but if you are asking me stuff in the reviews, sign in so I can reply, or just PM me, okay! I hate it when someone asks a question and then I can't contact him/her with the answer!!) **

**And finally – thank you all so much for reading ALL of my stories. It means so much to me!! Love! **


	9. Round Nine: Like a Sister

**Most of this was written during an 8,5 hour flight from Amsterdam via London to Tampa and the jetlagged, sleepless night that followed with a mix of All American Rejects and Keith Urban playing on shuffle. I wasn't seated next to a dashing Logan-type fellow and ****I sort of expected my notebook scribbles to upload immediately, but alas. And 4****th**** of July cookouts and lazy beach days got in the way of retyping and uploading.**

**On a side note: if you own one of those spray suntan thingies, make sure to actually rub it in post spray or else you'll end up rockin' the blotchy look like me!**

**Anyway, I really hope this lives up to your expectations – the reviews have been awesome so far!!!! Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!!!! **

**Tiny recap: Logan and Rory ran into each other at HPG's offices in Hartford, CT after 4 months without contact (because of the drama that went down at Richard Gilmore's funeral). Their second meet was awkward at best, but Marci (Mitchum's secretary) sent them on a lunch 'date' and our favorite pairing played twenty questions, which was fun and flirty, before a phone call caused their lunch to end abruptly…. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own GG. **

* * *

Marci smirked as she stood up from her desk, greeting an annoyed looking Logan and a slightly nervous looking Rory. "Must have been a wonderful lunch."

Her playful tone caused Logan to question Marci's innocence in regard to the spontaneous lunch-date, but he refrained from asking as a bigger and more daunting task lay at hand.

"How is he, Marci?"

She raised her hands as she shrugged, "The usual. You know how he gets when he has to wait…" Marci shook her head and a crooked smile appeared on her face, "He said to send you both in."

Logan was baffled by the announcement. Why on earth would Mitchum want to see Rory – the lowly features reporter - together with him – The London Publication Manager? Logan stole a sideways glance at the girl next to him and he was somewhat relieved that she shared his apparent confusion. At least the pair of them was left in the dark, rather than this being his own personal surprise party.

"Hurry on now," Marci said, gesturing for them to enter Mitchum's office, "And I'll be right here waiting when you get out," she added in an amused tone.

He sighed deeply, resting his hand on the door handle. "Now or never, right Ace?" Logan said, cocking his head toward the door. Rory shot him a weak smile, as he proceeded to open the door.

"Wonderful to see you, Rory!"

The warm tone in Mitchum's voice caused Logan to raise a suspicious eyebrow, especially as he noted that Rory seemed to relax immediately.

"How are you, Mitchum?" she said with a bright smile, "I'm terribly sorry…lunch ran late."

"Nonsense," he exclaimed, raising his hand to stop her apologies, "I know how you Gilmores can pack away food!" Logan watched as Rory and his father exchanged a knowing smile, before Mitchum switched his gaze to him.

"Logan." The usual coldness was back in Mitchum's tone.

"Dad." The young Huntzberger nodded his greeting, matching the iciness in his fathers' tone as he spoke. The tension that suddenly filled the room disappeared as soon as Mitchum broke eye contact with his son.

"Please, both sit." He gestured at the leather seats in front of his large desk.

"Now, Rory," he continued as soon as Rory and Logan found their seats, "Tell me; how have you been? Would you like some coffee?"

"You never have to ask me that, Mitchum," Rory chuckled.

Mitchum shot her a smile, before ordering Marci to fetch three cups of coffee. "Now that's out of the way, tell me what you've been up to…"

"Shouldn't we be having a meeting?" she asked carefully, not noticing the look Logan shot her – how dare she question the Great Mitchum Huntzberger? But he needn't have worried as Mitchum let out a loud laugh.

"This is the meeting, Gilmore!"

A small smile appeared on Rory's face, and she wrapped her hands around the coffee mug Marci had just placed before her, as if she was buckling down for a good heart-to-heart with a girlfriend. "I've been good, Mitchum. I love features; I'm working on a great piece on small town art festivals…."

Mitchum nodded approvingly. "Wonderful. How's Gregory treating you?"

"Oh, Greg is great. Best boss a girl could have!" she practically beamed as she spoke.

"Good. And in real life? How's your grandmother…?"

Rory's smile pulled into a frown at the thought of her grandmother. "She's doing okay, considering…," she let out a deep sigh, "you know."

Logan watched in bewilderment as the conversation unfolded before him. Mitchum actually smiled at Rory's enthusiasm about her job and his features softened at the mention of her grieving grandmother. Logan would have never guessed the girl next to him shared a father-like bond with the man he despised. What's more, he couldn't deny the pang of jealously he felt as his mysterious girl continued to converse – completely at ease – with his father.

"Excuse me," Logan interrupted taking snooty tone, "but can we get this meeting underway? I've got a conference call in an hour…"

"It didn't seem to stop you from taking a two hour lunch," Mitchum shot him a snide smile, "but I suppose a conference call is far more important than a face-to-face meeting?"

Logan wanted to slap that smug look clear off Mitchum face considering that the only reason Logan needed to call-in was because his father summoned him to this blasted meeting, which apparently consisted of him listening to Mitchum and Rory banter. He clenched his fist in anger, but relaxed it almost instantly, deciding it wasn't worth it.

"I'm sorry," he managed through gritted teeth.

Rory, as if sensing Logan's frustration added, "I shouldn't have ordered that fifth cappuccino, Mitchum."

Logan watched in awe as his father melted at the sight of Rory's big eyes and slightly pleading pout.

"You and your coffee…" he sighed, amusement leaking through his tone. "I'll have Marci bring more," Mitchum continued, stealing a look at Logan's still-full mug. "Drink your coffee, son."

If he had paid any sort of attention over the years Mitch would have known Logan thought coffee was the devil's water.

"I'm not a big fan, Dad," Logan said simply as he handed his mug to Rory, who by now was eagerly eyeing the beverage.

"Logan is a Coke-man," Rory told Mitchum, "The fizzy drink, obviously, not the powder variety… "

"I see," Mitchum said, distance retaking his tone and the 'pleasant' conversation came to a halt as he downed the last sip of his brew, cleared his throat and started.

"Well, Rory, first I'd like to start off saying that I'm pleased you've been enjoying features so much. I've read your pieces with great pleasure – they are real first-class, ace work."

Logan and Rory sharked a knowing look.

"Greg has been keeping me up to date and he too is excited about your work and excited about your possibilities for growth within our organization…"

"Thank-you, Mitchum," Rory said with a polite nod.

"Now, of course, I didn't just bring you here to compliment you…."

Rory shot Mitchum an expectant smile, and Logan continued to exchange confused looks between his father and his…what really? She wasn't his to have and, more to the point, he himself wasn't sure he wanted that. Jet-lag and the fact that he simply had no desire to partake in this meeting just added to his confusion.

"Seriously?" Rory's excited shriek yanked him from his thoughts immediately.

"Yes, seriously. Obviously you were too…" Mitchum paused, weighing his words carefully, "…immature to deal with the pressures of the program last time the opportunity arose…"

Rory looked away embarrassed, but perked up as Mitchum brushed passed the allusion to her wild teenaged years. "But in recent months you've really shown me what you are capable of…"

She interjected with a playful laugh, "This from the man who wanted me to start out as editor-in-chief!"

Logan's eyes widened in surprise as a rumble of laughter came from Mitchum for he was sure Rory's comment would enrage his father. "Touché, Gilmore." Mitchum smiled softly, "Your grandfather managed to talk some sense into me…"

A heavy silence fell over the room at the mention of the late Richard Gilmore.

"He would be proud of you, Rory."

She nodded softly, though the sadness that graced her features was definitely noticed by Logan. He stopped himself from reaching for her hand. Instead, he decided that shooting his dad an irritated look would be a fitting alternative.

"I'm sorry, Dad, but why am I here for this?"

Mitchum scoffed. "You would have known if you'd been paying attention!" He was spared of a further verbal lashing as Mitchum continued. "Rory is going to be a participant in the 'For the Future' program in London which is…"

He deliberately stopped talking and glared at Logan. He knew it was a test. Mitchum wanted Logan to explain the 'For the Future' program.

"The prestigious program I chair," Logan carried on in a dull voice. "All the industry greats gather at Huntzberger Publishing's European headquarters and over the course of three months spectacular classes are taught, workshops given and specially organized dinners and luncheons give the great writers of tomorrow a once in a lifetime opportunity to pick the brains of the leading people in the industry. At the end of this exciting yet challenging program the Board will award the star student with a position at HPG…"

Mitchum raised his hand and indicated that he'd heard enough. Logan couldn't help but smirk; he knew reciting the exact lines of the informational pamphlet would rile up his father.

"Pretty nice gig, Miss Gilmore," Logan told Rory and she shot him a small smile.

Meanwhile, he still wasn't sure why Mitchum summoned him to his office to hear about Rory's participation in the program. He had received the information on the other hundred or so applicant's months ago in a forwarded e-mail from Marci. Besides, Rory had secured a position at HPG so why she wanted to join was a complete mystery to him.

"Didn't admissions close months ago?" Logan asked, earning a frown from his father.

"They did," he acknowledged curtly, "but Rory is a special case."

Logan exchanged a quick glance between a slightly embarrassed Rory and Mitchum. "Okay," he shrugged. "So, Rory's on the program. I'm still not quite sure why I'm for this…"

"You are here because I called you here," Mitchum told him in a booming voice. "Rory is a Gilmore heiress. Do you honestly think Richard would allow her to travel to Europe without a chaperone? Without someone to keep an eye on her?"

Logan stole a glance at an increasingly embarrassed looking Rory. "No?"

"The girl has always talked about the Futures program, but Richard and Rory could never come to agreement…."

"I wanted to go by myself," Rory interjected quickly, "be a normal girl. But Grandpa wanted fifty bodyguards to tag along and for me to stay in some suite…."

"Richard and I talked about this, Rory," Mitchum told the girl, "He approved."

"Of what exactly?" Logan asked, but he really needn't as he had a pretty good idea of where this little exchange was headed.

"You keeping an eye on Rory while she's in London."

Logan shot Rory a surprised look and her mouth dropped in shock. "Mitchum, really, that's not necessary…" she managed to say, but Mitchum cut her off.

"Nonsense! This way you can participate in the program like a normal girl and we can relax knowing that Logan and his security team are keeping an eye on you. I've called ahead and made sure you are allotted an apartment in his building…"

"What?" She sounded appalled at the idea.

"Several participants are staying in that building, Rory. The rest is staying with guest families. It's not any form of special treatment." Mitchum knew the Gilmore girl wasn't completely convinced.

"It's what Richard wanted," he told her, laying the guilt on thick. "He wanted you to pursue your dreams."

"I know," she said in a small voice and swallowed hard, knowing that this sounded like something her grandfather would have contrived. If she wanted to go to Futures she knew she needed to play by his rules. The embarrassment Rory felt by forcing Logan to go along with this ridiculous plan and the awkwardness that was sure to burden their budding "relationship" was overshadowed by the opportunity to finally live her childhood dream.

"So, when do I leave?" she asked Mitchum with a bright smile.

The old Huntzberger laughed, "I knew you'd come around. Why don't you call your mother with the good news?"

Rory nodded eagerly and left the room, making sure her gaze didn't trail to Logan. She didn't want to know if he was absolutely disgusted by her families manipulating ways.

As soon as the door closed, Mitchum locked eyes with Logan. "You are to treat her as a sister."

"I'm offended that you'd think otherwise."

Mitchum shot the boy a pointed look. "Do not bullshit me, son," he warned, "I'm not in the mood for your jokes…"

"She's an adult, Dad…Why did you even consider this ludicrous arrangement if you are so concerned about my assumed ladies man status?" he interject hotly.

"I made Richard a promise to look after that girl." The older Huntzberger took a sip of his coffee and shrugged. "Richard's death absolutely devastated her; she's been miserable. She's been looking forward to this for as long as I care to remember. This will put her mind off him and she'll be able to use some of her writing talents for the greater good, instead of wasting them on writing DAR menus."

Logan ran a hand through his hair. The warm in his father's eyes as he spoke about Rory had caught him by surprise. Frankly, this whole meeting was out of the ordinary. He had never really cared all too much about the Futures program – as if he had time to deal with a hundred overachievers who worshipped the ground he and his father walked on.

Still, the prospect of spending three months with Rory sounded interesting to say the least, even if he was being forced to watch her and treat her like a sister.

"Alright," Logan sighed finally, "I'll babysit her, if that'll make you happy."

A faint smile appeared on Mitchum's face. "If I find out that you've so much as looked at her funny, your trust is cancelled!"

Logan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Dad.."

"No discussion, Logan." Mitchum told him firmly, "It's not just your ass that's on the line. Its HPG's as a respectable company, the integrity of the program, Rory…. Everything comes back to me. You've got that?"

He fought the urge to roll his eyes and granted his father a fake smile instead. "Sure."

"Just don't give any wrong impressions…."

"Okay!" Logan exclaimed, now becoming annoyed – his father made him out to be some kind of horn dog with an insatiable appetite for sex.

"Treat. Like. Sister. I've got it, Dad."

Mitchum frowned deeply in thought, as if Logan had just made him an offer. After a few moments of tense silence, the man stuck out his hand and Logan shook it, sealing their agreement.

* * *

Logan walked out of Mitchum's office, still reeling from the effects of his meeting with Mitchum.

"She's downstairs in the lobby," Marci called from behind her desk. Logan simply waved his thanks at her and he stepped onto the awaiting elevator.

He couldn't help but smile as the elevator doors opened. Rory was standing in the corning, back to him, nattering away on her phone. He let his eyes travel a moment, from her chestnut brown bun, to her lean back, perfect rear, long legs and finally dragging his eyes back to steal another look at her ass. Logan approached her, just as she was ending the conversation and rested his hand on the small of her back.

"Hey."

As if it were a familiar occurrence between the two, she leaned back into him and looked up. "Hey."

Her tone may have been at ease and the crooked smile she granted him may have been involuntary, but the way her eyes darted back and forth gave her insecurity away. Logan understood where she was coming from though. Not many girls would be okay with having the guy they shared an intimate lunch with turn into a babysitter.

"Don't worry about it," he reassured her.

Rory pulled away and shot him an unconvinced look. "I never thought…"

"I know," he nodded, before raising his eyebrows and nodding again, adding emphasis, "Believe me, I know."

A soft laugh escaped her lips.

"At least they care about you!" Logan said, with a mock-accusatory tone.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Mitchum cares about you, too," she said, but her tone didn't sound all too convinced.

This time, Logan rolled his eyes and decided to leave the topic of Mitchum for now.

"So, London?"

"London." Rory nodded happily, absentmindedly brushing her palm against Logan's chest.

The unexpected touch was all but enough for Logan to lean in and kiss the girl but Mitchum's voice boomed in the back of his mind.

_Sister. _

He swallowed hard, trying to eliminate that uneasy feeling that crept over him. He was crazy; Mitchum was crazy. And he was sure that if he told Rory, she'd find it crazy. Then again, he didn't want to tell her. Maybe she really did think of him as a brother, or worse – a friend - and that would be too much to handle all in one day.

"Are you listening?"

"Sorry," Logan winced, dropping his head. He waited a beat, before lifting it slowly revealing his apologetic face. "Jet lag?"

She smirked, "I'll believe it." He shot her an appreciative smile and waited for her to continue.

"I was saying that you should pick me up from the airport and take me to get those famous pub burgers you were going on and on about…"

"What makes you think I'll be picking you up?" he asked with confusion lacing his tone.

Rory cocked her head to the side and pointed behind her. "Weren't you just at that meeting?"

"I was. Great fun." He couldn't help the sarcasm that seeped through his tone. "What I meant was that if I were picking you up at the airport, you'd be flying in alone…" Logan trailed off as he watched Rory's face pale considerably.

"You hadn't thought about it," he said slowly as he watched her eyes grow wide in worry. "Hey, don't worry. I'll fly with you."

She fixed her gaze to his. "I thought you had meetings and stuff in London?"

He shrugged. "I'll reschedule," he told her, pulling his face into a smirk.

"Are you sure?" She asked a little hesitantly.

"Absolutely," he chuckled. "Wouldn't want a Future Writer to bail because of something silly like flying. I'll book the jet for 10:00 am Friday. Futures starts Monday afternoon, so that'll give you enough time to get over the jetlag… "

Rory shot him a megawatt smile and clapped her hands excitedly. "Thank-you so much!" In another uncalculated move, she pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Thank-you," she whispered as she pulled back, cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment, before walking away from him.

"Where you going, B?" he called out after her.

"Packing!" If she'd dared to look back, she would have seen the huge smile gracing Logan's face.

"I'll pick you up at 8:00 on Friday!"

She raised her right arm and waved it above her head, letting him know that his message was heard, before she joined the masses in exiting through the revolving door. He watched her go, resting his hand on his right cheek. Rory Gilmore was some girl; never had something as innocent as a peck on the cheek make him feel all sorts of crazy. If Logan could ever truly love a girl, he'd want it to be her.

Instead, he promised to love her like a _sister. _

* * *

_Me again. So I know this leaves some issues unresolved - the date - but both were too caught up by Mitchum announcement that they aren't thinking about that right now. This will be dealt with next chapter. _

_Speaking about that, I try to keep my stories realistic and I get that it's a little farfetched that good old Mitchum is sending them to London, but I don't think it's too crazy. I know secret identity, writing training camps and Logan-is-the-boss fics have been done before, but I don't think they've ever been combined like this and I thought it would be cool. Let me know if there is one out there, though, I wouldn't want to be ripping anyone off._

_What else. Oh. Finn will be in London, since he's still living with Logan and I think the Rory-Finn interaction will be funny. Also wanting your input as to how much Lorelai I should add. Rory and Lorelai's bond is as strong as ever; she's just not had much opportunity to be in this fic, since I was just focusing on Rogan – but if you are missing Lorelai I'll write her. Again, really, really sorry for the delay in updating. I love to write for all my fics – time is my enemy, not writer's block or anything unbearable like that! Sorry for the rambling AN, but don't forget to review and much, much love always!! _


	10. Round Ten: Seeing You Differently

**I updated this in the first week of my Super Summer Vacation at the Dad's house and now that the Vacation Bubble is about to pop, I figured now was as good a time as ever to update. I'm sorry that my promise to update more frequently hasn't really worked on any of my stories, but I guess that's how summer goes. I'll be heading back to the real world early next week and it'll take a few days before I'm in the writing mood again. The 'Girl, Welcome Back Dinners' and 'Shoot, School Starts in Three Weeks Cocktails' are sure to lift my spirits; however, those activities prevent me from writing as I'm sure you'll understand. **

**Anyway, back to the story and not my life which isn't nearly as interesting – Round Ten of the continuing Game is up and the situation becomes a little more complex (surprise!). **

**Holding his trust over his head, Mitchum got Logan to promise to watch Rory in the For the Future Writers Program in London, meaning Logan and Rory will be together for three months. Only catch: Logan can't woo Rory – he is to treat her like a sister. Rory doesn't know and doesn't worry about how she'll act around Logan (her obsession) because she's too wrapped up in the fact that she is finally allowed to go to London! **

**In this chapter, I'm re-introducing Lorelai and Christopher. I wasn't planning to (most of you didn't want them in the story) but it works better for the flow of the story and provides some background, I suppose. Lorelai might seem a little OCC, but that has to do with Rory's complicated past (which will all be revealed eventually.) I know I promised Finn, but next chapter. Definitely next chapter. **

**Thanks for sticking with me through this obnoxiously long AN and through everything else. Your kind words for this story are heartwarming. Truly, thank-you and muchlove! **

**Disclaimer: Do not own GG!! **

* * *

"Mom? Where are you?" Rory called out as she reached the top of the staircase.

A muffled yell came from the far end of the hallway and Rory quickened her pace. She had called Lorelai from HPG's offices, excitedly telling her that Mitchum had given the green-light for her to participate in the "For the Future Writers" Program. Three months in London spent soaking up every facet of the writing world sounded like absolute heaven and Lorelai's excited screaming confirmed that Rory needed to be part of this program. Lorelai promised her daughter to help packing the moment she got home.

A smile played at Rory's lips as an enormous pile of t-shirts, skirts, jeans, dresses, ballet flats, flip-flops and other items were strewn haphazardly in the hallway in front of her bedroom door. Apparently, Lorelai had gotten a head start.

"Mom?" Rory asked poking her head in to see the damage Lorelai had done to her otherwise neat and organized room. More clothes were separated into piles on the bed, dresser and floor and post-it notes were stuck on her vanity mirror with reminders like 'yummy toothpaste, not the other kind' 'good floss' and 'sexy red lipstick.'

"What are you doing?" she asked, slightly incredulous, as Rory stepped further into the mess that was now her bedroom.

"I started packing," Lorelai said, before whipping her head around and holding up two nearly identical navy button-down shirts.

"Which one says "I-am-a-smart-and-talented-writer-and-I-am-going-to-kick-your-butt-so-kiss-the-prize-goodbye" more?"

Rory's lips twisted into an uncertain smile as she surveyed both shirts for a moment, before resting her eyes on her frazzled-looking mother. "Are you alright, Mom?"

"Got to answer the questions, sweets," Lorelai said. Shuffling from side-to-side, she asked again. "Which one?"

Rory's brow furrowed in concern, which went completely unnoticed by her mother. "I'm thinking this one," Lorelai said to no one in particular as she tossed the shirt in her right hand behind her and went back to rummaging through Rory's closet.

Rory watched as the blouse landed on the carefully selected yes-pile but only staying there for a moment as it slid down ending up on the middle of the bed in murky, undecided territory together with a pair of short-shorts, a yellow tank-top and a baseball cap that had already found their way there, between the definite yes and reject pile.

She frowned at the mess and turned to her mother once more, who was now obsessively eyeing a Prada tote. "Mom!"

"What, honey?" Lorelai turned to face her daughter and now that she had Lorelai's undivided attention, she wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Maybe we should take a break?" Rory suggested, "Grab some coffee…"

"Can't stop. Have to pack. You've got August, September, October and part of November to spend in London. That's one hundred and twenty two days and a good four seasons to get through…"

"Four?"

"London weather is unpredictable, sweets," Lorelai said with a short smile and a heavy sigh. "You've got to look smart in your classes, professional at the networking get-togethers, cute for hanging out with your new friends, comfortable if you get sick or just want to spend a day relaxing… that's a whole lot of situations you have to be prepared for without…."

She swallowed her that last thought as she stepped over a pile of boots to one of the dresser drawers. Rory's features softened as she realized what had caused her mother's sudden spell of craziness.

"I'll miss you too, Mom."

"How 'bout these Santa socks?" Lorelai asked, holding the pair over her head.

"What happened, Mom?" Rory asked, ignoring her mother's sock inquiry. "I'm pretty sure you blew out my eardrum with that screaming earlier, what changed?"

"Maybe it's a little too soon for Santa," Lorelai said, dismissing the socks to another reject pile.

"It's not like I'm moving to London, Mom. It's three months, I'll be home for Christmas and you and Dad can come of visit and I went to college, lived in dorms and it was fine…" Rory said, rambling off reasons why Lorelai shouldn't be overreacting.

"They are comfortable socks, though," Lorelai said in contemplation, and fished the red-and-green footwear from the pile of rejects.

"Mom!" Rory let out an exasperated sigh. "Are you even listening?"

Lorelai whipped her head around, holding the Santa-themed socks tightly in her hands. "I know, I know all that, Rory," she said, "but you'll be all alone!"

"There are a hundred other participants…"

"And yet you'll be alone, or is everyone else a…" Lorelai interjected.

"Heiress?" Rory provided smoothly, not wanting her mother to use a whole list words that so accurately described her now-embarrassing past.

"Heiress," Lorelai nodded slowly in agreement before crossing her arms in frustration. "I can't believe Mitchum is just letting you go! He knows how your Grandpa felt about this…"

A tiny scoff escaped Rory's lips which earned her a wary look from her mother. "Is that what this freak-out is about?"

Lorelai pursed her lips in demonstrative silence, forcing Rory to continue. "You are mad at Mitchum for letting me go and yet you are packing for me to ensue I have a blouse that says "I'll-beat-you"?"

"It actually says "I-am-a-smart-and-talented-writer-and-I-am-going-to-kick-your-butt-so-kiss-the-prize-goodbye"" Lorelai said with a weak laugh. "And I can't stop you from going, you are twenty-two. You should be going…"

"But you can't let go of the past?"

"Yeah," Lorelai nodded, clenching the Santa-socks a little tighter.

Rory let out a heavy sigh. She knew she would always carry around the burden of her teen-year-persona but she had moved past it and put in her best effort to show that she was more that that, better than that. It hurt her that her mother could never quite let it go and embrace Rory as she was today.

"I won't be alone," Rory said finally, "Mitchum and Grandpa apparently had a plan in place. He told me and I should have told you on the phone earlier..."

The expression on Lorelai's face lightened considerably as she probed Rory for the outline of the plan.

"Well," Rory sighed, giving in, "You remember Logan?"

Lorelai's eyes widened in immediate understanding. "Oh, honey…"

The sincerity in her mom's exhale and the sympathy in her eyes caught Rory by surprise. Really, she was going to London, she'd rock the FTF-writers program and Logan would be there by her side…babysitting.

"Ooh…" she drew out slowly as reality caught up with her. Rory had been so enthralled by the prospect of London that the role her blonde-haired obsession played in it all failed to register completely. More to the point, Lorelai didn't even know about the unexpected non-date lunch she had Logan had shared, not to mention his gracious offer to fly with her across the pond and the spontaneous kiss she had pressed on his cheek.

Suddenly, what seemed like a straightforward situation became unbearably complex.

"This could be awkward," Rory said finally, raising her gaze to meet her mother's. It was clear by the expression on Lorelai's face that she was relieved that Rory hadn't considered the scenario of what 'Babysitter Logan' meant for them – if there even was a 'them'.

"Who's freaking out now, kid?" she laughed good-humouredly, wrapping her daughter in a hug. "It'll be okay…"

"How will it be okay?" Rory asked, pulling out of the embrace. "Ill be living in his apartment building, he and his security team will keep a constant watch on me, I kissed him…"

"You kissed him?" This caught Lorelai off-guard.

"On the cheek, after the meeting, after the not-date-lunch date, after we agreed on going out on a real date, before he knew about the whole FTF-program plan!"

Lorelai sighed heavily. After she found out that Airplane Boy Logan was in fact Logan Huntzberger she had been less than keen for him to be her daughter's first experience back in the world of dating, games and love. She acknowledged that her daughter had created a pretty bad reputation, though she also knew that Logan's write-ups in the gossip pages hadn't been unaccounted for. To her mind, he was just another bad influence Rory didn't need. Though, after the boy jetted back to London and out of her daughter's life, she really didn't see the need to bring up her concerns.

However, now that Mitchum and Richard decided to pair them up Lorelai's worries came back full force. She didn't understand why Mitchum and Richard had considered Logan being Rory's escort a good idea, though she also knew that Mitchum would have forced his son to some sort of agreement. Perhaps his trust. At the very least the promise of no funny business.

Something.

Lorelai didn't know for sure if Logan's interest in Rory was genuine – despite whatever non-date dating they had done – though it was increasingly obvious that Rory's feelings were true. And this needed to be nipped in the bud, immediately.

"Honey," Lorelai sighed finally as her jumbled thoughts aligned in her mind. "It'll be fine; not awkward."

Rory raised her eyebrows unconvinced. "Really?"

"You've just got to get your focus. What are you there for? Logan or the program?"

"For the Future but…"

"No buts," Lorelai smiled warmly.

"But he asked me out?!"

"You want to write, you'll write and he'll let you write – he's your mentor, he'll want you to do well…"

Lorelai's tone wasn't noticeably forceful, but Rory's subconscious picked up on her mom's urging. A sudden calm washed over her as she agreed with her mother – for now at least. She was going to London to write, not to be with him. He was a mentor. Happy to have diverted that crisis for another day, Rory dropped to her knees to deal with another, more pressing, matter.

"Santa-socks yes," Rory said excitedly, reaching over to another pile, "but this shirt…." She held up the one that ended up in the in-between pile, "is a no."

Laughing, Lorelai sat next to her daughter as they continued to sort through the piles of clothes, shoes and accessories. For now, all was right between mother and daughter in the Gilmore-Hayden world.

* * *

Friday came and with that an anxious looking Logan, standing on the Gilmore-Hayden's doorstep at seven-thirty in the morning.

The boy had plenty to be anxious about. He was about to see Lorelai and Christopher for the first time since Richards funeral, where he - unbeknownst to them - tried to pick up their daughter before she collapsed in his arms. Ever the cowardly gentleman, he passed Rory off to Lorelai, mumbling a few stupid apologies before getting the hell out of there. Not exactly a stellar first impression. What really set his heart racing, though, was the idea of spending three months with Rory. Maybe, he realized during their lunch, his infatuation was turning into the beginnings of something that one day could resemble love, but he didn't know. And, according to his agreement, he wasn't allowed to find out.

"Treat like sister," he mumbled to the still-chilly morning air as he pressed the doorbell. A maid, as if she had been waiting on the other side, promptly opened it and let him into the Gilmore-Hayden home.

"Mr. Huntzberger," the stout maid greeted him with a short nod.

"Morning," Logan nodded and followed her to the foyer, where Christopher and Lorelai were waiting for him.

"Good morning, Logan," Lorelai said in a sickeningly sweet society tone and Christopher shook his hand. "Morning."

"Good Morning," Logan acknowledged them both with smiles and nods but it didn't seem to defrost the icy atmosphere.

"Rory's just packing some last things, you know us Gilmore girls," Lorelai contuined with a fake laugh. "Coffee while you wait?"

Logan smiled, casting an awkward glance between Christopher – who looked about ready to pounce – and Lorelai who stood before him in a Stepford Wife kind of way. He seemed to have remembered them nicer, though perhaps the picture the glossies had painted had affected them more than he knew.

"Maybe some tea? I don't drink coffee…"

"You don't drink coffee?" Lorelai asked, trying to hide her shock. If she were still talking to Rory about the possibility of Rory-and-Logan she would add his distaste for coffee to the con-side of the list. This was a major, dealbreaker con.

"No."

"What about lattes?"

"No," he shook his head, not caring about the laugh that escaped him.

"Cappuccino?" She narrowed her eyes to suspicous slits. What boy dared mock her love of coffee?

"Never had it, but probably not because it's, you know, coffee…"

"Actually, espresso made with hot milk and topped with a milk-foam cap!!!"

"I see…" Logan said uncomfortably digging his hands deeper in his pockets.

"Give it up, Lore," Chris laughed, sliding behind Lorelai and snaking his arm around her waist. "The boy doesn't like coffee…"

The look he gave Logan made him feel as if he had just stated that he liked to shoot kittens on the weekends, not something as silly as not liking coffee.

"You know Rory likes coffee, right?" Chris asked.

Logan nodded, "She loves the stuff."

"You won't withhold her coffee, will you?" Lorelai asked as she contuined eyeing the boy suspiciously.

"No, uh.. what…?" Logan tried to verbalize his confusion, but it wasn't working out for him as Chris immediately cut him off.

"Mitchum tells me you are to treat her like a sister."

Logan swallowed a few times. No wonder they hated his guts. Strolling in here, acting like a slick society fellow when in reality – at least to Lorelai and Christopher – the only reason he was doing this was for the sake of his precious trustfund. Rory told him that her parents were amazing and this display really proved they cared about her. He couldn't imagine Mitchum looking out for him like this.

"I take it your trust is important to you?" Lorelai carried on with the interrogation .

"Yes, that it is," he said, not bothering to hide that fact. "But Rory is important to me, too." Logan suppressed the smile that threatened to spread over his face as he continued, using his most professional voice. "Her performance in the FTF-program is important and my team and I will do everything to make sure that she gets what she wants out of her time in London…"

He concluded with a small smile; happy that he had made his 'feelings' toward her a little more professional and just as Chris was about to launch the second attack Rory bounced down the stairs, yelling, in her typical ranting way.

"Mom? Dad? Where are you guys? This house is too big! Is Logan here yet? I have too many bags! Do I have time for one more cup of coffee?"

She rounded the corner and entered the foyer and stopped dead in her tracks. "I guess not," she said in a softer, more lady-like tone, wishing the blush that appeared on her cheeks would fade just as quickly as it came.

"Hey."

"Morning, Rory," Logan said with a warm smile, though he was careful to only lock his eyes to hers for a beat, maybe two. More would be suspicious and that wouldn't do anything to help his case, on the protective 'in-laws' front or his own. Treat. Like. Sister.

"Have your coffee," he told her, gesturing at the cart in the corner of the room, "the jet doesn't leave 'till ten. I'm early."

She shot him a crooked smile as Lorelai piped up. "Gilmores always run late, never early…"

"Please, mom," Rory laughed, handing her mom a fresh mug, "When do we run?"

Christopher, Lorelai and Rory shared a laugh, and Logan chuckled uncomfortably. It was obviously some sort of inside joke.

"Do you know Logan doesn't drink coffee?" Lorelai asked, hoping to evoke a disgusted reaction from her daughter.

"Yeah," Rory shrugged, "he drinks Coke." She turned her direction to Logan. "Hey, did you know that on May 29, 1886, the first print ad for Coke appeared in the Atlanta Journal?"

Logan smiled a careful smile, "I didn't."

"What's with the facts?" Lorelai asked, feeling dangerously out of the loop. "What about coffee?"

"Coffee has facts," Logan said, intentionally missing the point of Lorelai's query. "Did you know, for example, that large doses of coffee can be lethal. Ten grams, or 100 cups over 4 hours, can kill the average human?"

"Is that why you don't drink the stuff?" Rory asked curiously, stepping closer toward him, "because you know that the steam rising from a cup of coffee contains the same amount of antioxidants as three oranges." She held out her mug and pointed at the steam rising from her mug.

A heartfelt laugh came from Logan, causing Lorelai to question her earlier image of Logan. Maybe his affection was genuine after all? Nevertheless, she couldn't help picking on him.

"Have you even given coffee a fair chance?"

"Mom!" Rory said in shock – she certainly didn't want her mother embarrassing her in front of her off-limits obsession. "Logan just doesn't like coffee!"

Logan raised his eyebrows, impressed that this girl would defend him (about something as silly as coffee, but still) to her parents.

"What do you mean he don't like coffee?" Lorelai asked in a strange accent as she placed a hand on her hip.

"Why don't you just make lamb?" Rory countered calmly, before the family couldn't keep the seriousness up any longer and burst out in laughter.

It took him a moment to make the obscure connection in his mind, but finally joined in with a lame laugh. "Cute movie, that one is."

Chris coughed uncomfortably, making in painfully clear that Logan disrupted a family moment. "Well, kiddo, I should get to work."

"Okay, Daddy," Rory said with a frown, placing her mug down on the coffee table. "I'll miss you, you know that right?"

"I'll miss you, too, baby girl. Be safe, have fun – but not too much – and call me when you get in," Christopher rattled off his standard fatherly words before enveloping her in a big hug and gently kissing the top of her head.

Rory pressed a kiss on his cheek, before quickly moving on to her mother, by nature a much harder goodbye. Logan rested his gaze on the emotional scene but was interrupted as Chris stood before him. "Logan," he nodded, sticking out his hand for him to shake.

Logan took the hand and was surprised that Chris pulled him into a man-hug. "Rory is nothing more and nothing less than your sister. If you hurt her, your father and your trust are the least of your problems, understand?" he said under his breath.

A good parental threatening never unnerved Logan and he replied with a curt nod and a brisk tone. "Understood."

Christopher continued to look at him, so he tapered the harshness in his tone. "I'll wait outside."

* * *

After a few moments, a teary-eyed Rory met Logan on the steps leading up to the front door. "Hey," she said softly.

"Hi," he replied and turned to look at her. "Are you okay?" he asked, fishing a tissue out of his jacket pocket and handing it to her. "Never been used," he assured her lightly, trying to alleviate some of the drama of saying goodbye.

She gratefully took the tissue and blew her nose. "I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," he told her, waving his hands to underscore his point. "I get it." Logan didn't, but a white lie was justified in this case.

She smiled, before chuckling. "You are so full of it, Logan. I know who your dad is, remember?"

He laughed with her, happy the intenseness of the moment had passed. Still, he felt uncomfortable knowing that Lorelai was still eyeing his every move from her place behind the windowsill only a few feet away from them. He knew she watched as he handed her the tissue, proceeded to take one of her many bags and rest his hand on the small of her back as he led Rory to the car.

Step for step, risky moves that could – and probably would – make it back to his father. But he didn't give a damn; it was worth it for Rory's smile.

* * *

"You okay?" Logan asked, settling next to a seat across from Rory in the jet.

"Yeah, why?" she asked, fingering the lid off her steamed mocha latte.

"You just had a look about you," he said and immediately cursed himself inwardly as he realized it was a fine line between concerned and simply perverted "brother".

"I was just thinking that you dropped about a million points in my mom's mind, with all that negative talk about coffee," Rory said wiht a slight chuckle.

A second of silence passed between them and Rory realized that her question implied a lot more than was appropriate, considering she was now to view him as a mentor-type-person.

Her eyes widened as she blushed her apologies. "Not that we are counting.""No, not counting, Ace," Logan smirked, mentally adding about a million points to her side.

* * *

_I know Lorelai and Chris are a little more manipulative (especially Lorelai) than on the show, but they are more society, too. It balances each other out, don't you think? More Rogan goodness in the next chapter, promise. I just wanted Lorelai to plant doubt in Rory's mind so that Logan isn't the only one fighting certain urges. It promises to be exciting fight, this game. Let me know what you think! You know I love the reviews!!!! _


	11. Round Eleven: Lines

**This is me trying to make good on weekly updates! How 'bout that, huh? **

**Reminder: Logan picked up Rory from Lorelai and Chris's and it was a little icy. And even though Logan is supposed to treat Rory like a sister, and Rory is to view Logan strictly as a mentor type person, both of our favorites are struggling with this seemingly straightforward task. This chapter is their flight across the pond and meeting Logan's very fabulous room mate. **

**I know it's been a while, but thank you so much for a the reviews, adds and favs. There seems to be a rather large following for this story, which is very flattering to know. Ah, I just hope it doesn't dissapoint. Nevertheless, don't forget to review!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GG. And I'm not a big drinker, even though in my stories I show an extensive amount of cocktail-making knowledge. **

* * *

After Rory acknowledged she'd crossed the line – mentor, mentor, mentor! – she quickly reached for her Birkin tote and pulled out a tattered copy of a novel. It was obvious it had been read many, many times before but it was effective tool in closing off all lines of communication with Logan. It saved her from crossing any more lines and it probably saved Logan from a telling-off later, since he now had nothing better to do than to attend to the piles of paperwork that awaited him.

At first, the book failed to shield her from Logan. He doesn't need the distraction, she told herself, as she tried keeping her gaze focused on the letters on her page, but she couldn't stop her gaze from traveling to him.

A millisecond of eye-contact. A small smile. The hint of redness on her cheeks. And back to reading.

Logan couldn't help but wonder if the girl had received her own set of special instructions ("Treat. Like. Brother.") from Lorelai and Christopher, though, at the same time, he couldn't imagine innocent Ace needing anything of the sort.

Still, her frequent looks in his direction felt nice, familiar even, since he had grown accustomed to it.

Midway through the flight whatever six-hundred page novel Rory was reading managed to keep hold of her attention since the seemingly innocent glances in his direction became scarce. To Logan, it didn't matter as it gave him ample opportunity to repay the favor.

He laid his fountain-tipped pen down on the tray table in front of him and fixed his eyes on her. Rory sat crossed-legged in the leather chair, the book open on her lap, her back arched forward. He wondered briefly why she assumed this slightly awkward position. Wouldn't holding the book up to her face be more comfortable?

Her hands were occupied, though. She used her left hand to cup her chin, keeping her head stable as her eyes flew over the pages, which she flipped every few moments with her right hand.

Logan stared at her, watching as she soaked up every letter, word and sentence, her expression changing every so often as she became more and more enthralled by the narrative of her book.

Typically, this type of behavior didn't strike him as sexy but watching her, making the book her world, was. She didn't care that her hair threatened to fall from its ponytail, or that her coffee beside her had become cold many hours ago.

It was the intensity with which she read that made it sexy. Of course, Logan himself was an intense person. He lived a life of extremes and not averages. Showing such a passion for something as common as reading, lead him to believe that she carried the same attitude for other areas in her life.

He smirked as he caught himself tallying a few more points to her side.

Suddenly, the jet dropped a few thousand feet, signaling the start of its descend into London Gatwick Airport.

"What was that?" Rory gasped.

Logan looked up and met her frightened eyes. "They just started the descend."

Rory pressed her flat palm to her chest and sighed in relief. Whatever concentration she had during her reading session was gone and had been replaced by a genuine fear, which Logan couldn't help but find endearing.

He reached over, taking her sweaty palms in his hands and smirked. "We'll be on the ground in fifteen minutes."

"Landing is the most dangerous part of the flight…" Rory muttered as her eyes darted around the cabin nervously.

"Actually, statistically speaking take-off and landing are both equally dangerous."

Rory turned her head slightly to meet his gaze. A faint smirk was plastered on his face. "Are you making that up?" she asked.

"Perhaps," he said with a sly smile. "But did it work?"

A moment of silence passed between them as Rory contemplated her answer to his question. Finally, she nodded slowly.

"Yes."

* * *

Even though it was dark as the plane touched down, Rory could clearly see the stretch limo that awaited them at the gate.

"Is that for us?" she asked, a flirtatious smile appearing on her face, "or did I miss the memo that the president was on this flight, too?"

Logan smiled. It was obvious that Rory was happy to be back on the ground, where Mother Nature intended her to be.

"It's for us," he said as he unclasped his seatbelt. "You got special treatment during your last international flight with me…"

He paused for a moment, and popped open the overhead bin before continuing with a smirk, "..why mess with tradition?"

"Hardly tradition!" Rory laughed in return, "My dad arranged that. I didn't even want it, remember?"

Logan put his roller-bag on the floor next to hers and looked up, meeting her gaze. "But you deserve it, B."

Maybe it was the jetlag catching up with her, or maybe it was the way he looked, with his white shirt slightly wrinkled from the long flight, and the sleeves rolled up in a sexy way. Ruffled hair. The smile he flashed her as he spoke. The happy in his eyes. She didn't know, but that moment in which his comment flowed so effortlessly from his lips, caught her off guard. Stealing looks and flirtatious remarks she could do – at a certain point in her life it was even her expertise – but the genuineness with which he spoke made her a little uncomfortable.

He, however, appeared to be unaffected.

"You too," Rory mumbled and upon realizing that she'd yet again managed to cross the line, she got up from her seat, took her bag from Logan, smiled politely and steered the conversation far away from any lines and back to much safer territory. "So, does London have coffee?"

Logan laughed as he gestured for her to lead the way. "It's almost eleven at night!"

"So?" Rory shrugged, "Don't you drink Coke at eleven at night?"

"Mostly with rum."

"Spanish Coffee works for me," Rory shrugged with a smile, "Tia Maria, Rum and Hot Delicious Coffee…"

"Coffee and liquor?" He made his repulsion for that specific combination clear in his tone.

"Best of both worlds, baby," Rory said as the pair made their way to the limo. "Of course, there's the classic Irish Coffee…"

"Coffee, whiskey and whipped cream?"

Rory nodded, clearly pleased that at least Logan had some knowledge of her beloved coffee drinks.

"When God wants to add a zip to his cup…" She paused thoughtfully, before continuing on her rambling mission to educate Logan on all things coffee and alcohol. "Then if you are in the mood for a little almond taste whip up and Almond Coffee Cream. Got some molasses around and don't know what to do? Coffee, rum and molasses makes you a delicious cup of Cajun Coffee. Oh, you know what's really good, too?"

"No, what?" Logan answered, with his smirk firmly back in place.

Rory didn't notice his look; she was far too busy thinking of coffee. "A colonial coffee."

Logan's scrunched up his face in disgust, causing Rory to laugh. "Don't knock it 'till you've tired it. Kahlua, brandy, cinnamon, whipped cream and coffee – now how does that sound bad?"

He shrugged and tilted his head to the side. "The coffee part, ruining the beautiful brandy and Kahlua part. "

"The coffee part?" Rory copied his words, though her tone was laced with mock-outrage.

"What can I say?" Logan shrugged, locked his eyes on Rory and put on a helpless look. Slowly, her mock-raged features softened and she rolled her eyes.

He laughed at her little display of dramatics and she cracked up with him.

"Oh, Ace," he sighed, trying to catch his breath from laughing, "it's too bad they don't serve booze at Starbucks!"

She opened her mouth to contradict him, but he was quick to interject. "I know, beer and wine in its test stores! I read the paper, Bee, in fact, some might say it's my job to know what goes into HPG produced papers, seeing as we own such a great deal of them…."

Rory pouted slightly, as if she was mad at him for mocking her and her facts. Logan, however, saw through this façade and carried on. "And even at that, Starbucks certainly doesn't serve liquor, proving my point all along!" he raised his index finger, emphasizing his so-called point.

She cocked her head to the side, pout still in place. "Which was?"

"To go to the Logan Huntzberger Home Bar which is open all hours of the night…."

Rory's pout instantly changed into a megawatt smile and she laughed. "Well, that sounds like an excellent idea."

* * *

"You really are like the Prince of all Media," Rory noted as she stepped out of the elevator. Two strong men assisted her with her bags, though Logan dismissed the men who were sent to help him with his single piece of luggage.

Logan remained quiet as he tried to fish his keys from his pocket. "It is what it is, you know," he sighed, suddenly sounding very tired, as he turned to look at her.

She shot him a small smile and he opened the door, gesturing for her to go first. It was a grand space, certainly fit for a legitimate prince. It screamed bachelor pad in decoration, what with the sleek leather couches, white walls, some covered with abstract artworks, others decorated with a flat screen TVs.

In a glance around the room, she spotted a pool table, a wet bar and a knight in shining armor, though she stopped dead in her tracks as her eyes landed on a figure on the couch, apparently sleeping in a light-blue fuzzy short robe.

A girl. There was a girl in Logan's apartment. Rory tried to counter the wave of jealously rushing through her body with her mentor-mantra, but then she saw that the person lying on Logan's couch had very muscular, and not to mention, hairy legs.

Rory turned her head and saw Logan instructing the men to bring Rory's bags up one floor to her room. It was nice of him to take the role Mitchum gave him so seriously.

"So, who is the boy in the robe?" she asked as soon as Logan was finished with the men.

He turned, and heaved a heavy sigh. "That would be Finn."

"The Australian?"

"The one and only." He was pleasantly surprised she remembered that from their conversation during their first meet. "He takes the whole mi casa thing a little far…" Logan ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

"Finn!" he called and made his way further into the room to wake up his friend. "Finn!" He whacked Finn's head with the copy of Cosmo that was on the coffee table.

"His, not mine," Logan said as he held up the magazine to Rory, before taking it to Finn's head once again.

"Interesting choice," Rory replied as she made her way into the living area. "Purchased for pictures or articles?"

"Oh no, articles," Logan said seriously, "he thinks he'll gain a better understanding of women."

Rory shifted her gaze from the magazine down to Finn and back up to Logan. "Looks like your boy needs all the help he can get!" she said with an amused smile.

"Oh, B!" Logan inhaled sharply, his tone laced with humor, "don't let him hear you say that. Too many beautiful girls have crushed his soul."

Rory's eyes dropped to Finn. Another compliment. Effortlessly. Moving on. Rory reached out and grabbed hold of Finn's shoulder and started to shake it violently. "Wake up! Wake up!"

"Interesting technique, Ace," Logan said teasingly.

Rory didn't look up, but continued shaking the sleeping boy. Finally, after a minute or so, Finn stirred and his eyes fluttered open to meet Rory's.

"Hello love," he mumbled in his groggy morning voice. "Last night was marvelous wasn't it?"

"Not really," Rory answered truthfully as the majority of her night had been spent on an airplane.

"What? Finn always makes sure the ladies have a good time; it's a guarantee. Complete satisfaction, every time."

"Wonder what customer satisfaction rate is," Rory quipped, more to herself than anyone else, though she heard Logan chuckle. Meanwhile, Finn's hand had started traveling up Rory's arm, a half-hearted attempt to get her to lie down next to him. Logan nipped this activity in the bud and whacked his friend with the magazine one more time.

"Get up, Finn. You didn't go out, it's midnight, you fell asleep on the couch drinking white wine and reading Cosmo!"

This information sobered the boy up instantly and he sat up straight. "Thank God! I thought I'd have to change the information on my card, and satisfaction 99.9 percent of the time doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Rory laughed shaking her head. Finn rested her eyes on her for a moment, before looking at Logan.

"And who might this fine creature be, mate?"

"Rory."

"Rory-Rory?" Finn inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Not many other Rory's," Logan said through a tight smile. Finn was pretty well-informed about the Rory-situation, in that she was a girl who practically put a stop to Logan's man-whoring ways. Of course, Huntzberger claimed he was too busy at work, trying to impress Mitchum, though Finn knew better. Of course, Finn knew nothing about the latest change of events.

Rory exchanged a glance between Logan and Finn. Obviously, Logan had mentioned her to him.

Interesting.

"Lorelai Leigh, actually," she said and stuck out her hand for Finn to shake. He pressed a gentlemanly kiss on it and Rory smiled.

"And what brings you to rainy London, love?"

"The writers program."

Finn's eyes shot to Logan, though the Australian decided to drill his friend for answers later. "The writers program. You know mate here is a bigwig."

"I do," Rory smiled, "I'm actually staying in the guest apartment upstairs."

Finn resisted the urge to shoot Logan another look. "So, you'll be staying with us for quite a while, then, huh?"

Rory nodded, suddenly very excited about the FTF-writers program.

"Well, isn't that lovely," Finn said, "we should go out and celebrate!"

"Actually, we were going to make Irish Coffees," Logan interjected.

"Spanish Coffees," Rory corrected absentmindedly and Logan sent a smile in her direction. "Spanish Coffees, right."

"Coffee?" Finn couldn't help but smile slyly at his friend. "Coffee, coffee bean, coffee-coffee?"

"Yes, coffee."

"I was just double-checking, mate," Finn raised his hands defensively.

Logan dug his hands in his pockets. "Rory likes coffee."

"Very well then," Finn said and turned his head back to Rory. "We'll give you the grand tour of the kitchen."

"Great!" Rory clapped her hands excitedly, "I'm starving!" Rory got up and started to follow Logan into the kitchen.

"You eat?" Finn asked, eyeing her tiny frame. She turned her head and smiled coyly at the boy. "Only three times a day, not counting snacks," she quipped, before rounding the corner to the kitchen.

"Fascinating," Finn mumbled to himself. "Marvelous creature."

A minute later, he found Logan and Rory engaged in some verbal combat at the counter.

"Instant?" Rory gasped, clenching a jar of powered coffee. "Instant coffee?"

"What's wrong with instant?" Logan shrugged as he tried to take the jar from her.

"Instant coffee is the reason why tiny babies cry on twelve-hour flights! Instant coffee is the reason Santa Claus only comes once a year! Instant coffee is the reason for Monday mornings and bad hair days! Instant coffee is the reason for root canals!"

"Dramatic much, B?" Logan laughed and attempted once more to take the jar from her. Her grip must have loosened, for this time he was able to take it from her. Logan saw the absolute repulsion written on her face and laughed as he scooped the instant mix into a large mug.

"Don't knock it 'till you try it."

She scoffed – he was using her words on her! Rory waited a beat, before a cunning smile tugged at her lips. "Only if you make yourself a cup."

Logan dropped his head in defeat. "Fine, fine! I'm doubling the shot of rum, though!"

"Obviously, you've got to mask the instant somehow!"

"Jeez, B!" He tried to sound mad, but he couldn't contain his laughter. Trying to save some face, he pulled open a drawer and pulled out a folder with take-out menus. "The ones in the back are 24-hour joints. Why don't you go out to the living room and look through the menus. I'll bring your coffee in a minute?"

"Real smooth, Hugo," Rory said, causing his face to break out in a smile once more. He refused to make a quip about them agreeing his nickname should be "Boss" and Rory left the room, binder in hand, smile on her face.

"Well, well," Finn said, leaning against the fridge. "What happened between us, Logan?"

"What to you mean, Finn?" Logan asked, laughter still lacing his tone from his mock-argument with Rory.

"I thought we had the kind of relationship that was open and honest?"

Logan could always appreciate Finn's theatrical tendencies and decided that he was up to play the part.

He shot Finn a firm look. "But we do."

Finn stoked his chin with thumb and index finger, as if he was stroking his beard. "Really? Do you really believe that?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you tell me that Rory, Rory-Rory, of all the possible Rory's was coming to stay with us for three months?"

Logan shot Finn a half-smile. It was clear Finn didn't like being out of the loop. On the other hand, it really wasn't any of his business. "It happened kind of fast," Logan offered by way of explanation. "And technically, she's staying with me – you are a guest here," he added as a gentle reminder.

"Harsh, mate. Really, kick a man while he's down."

"Jenna kick you out again?" Logan asked.

"No, Vivian."

"Really, man, with all your cash buy a damn place," Logan laughed as he was busy measuring out the rum-shots, "Or go to one of the fifteen thousand Rothschild Hotels in the world…"

Finn shrugged at Logan's comments. "Make mine a triple."

He splashed a little more rum in Finn's cup. "I hear those Rothschild Hotels are even more comfortable than home."

"Clever use of the slogan, mate. Really!" Finn deadpanned, before deciding to get back on topic. "Why focus on me, when your live got a whole lot more interesting?"

"Please!" Logan waved his suggestion away. "She's in the writers program. I'm in the writers program. Her family didn't want her to travel alone because of her background…"

"…Gilmore-Hayden. Big names, mate," Finn remarked, though Logan just shrugged it off.

"So, that's why she's here."

"Uh-huh," Finn nodded unimpressed. Logan ignored him as he finished loading the whipped cream on the coffees, picked up the tray and headed off towards the living room.

"Well, there was quite a display of animosity there. Fighting about coffee this early in the mission?" Finn probed again.

"We weren't fighting…." Logan said in a semi-exasperated tone, but lowered his tone immediately as he saw Rory's stretched out form on the couch. "She must be asleep."

"Splendid!" Finn rubbed his hands together excitedly and took his coffee from the tray. "So, what's the deal?"

"There is no deal, Finn!" Logan sighed. "I'm her babysit. Older brother. Mentor if you will. There is nothing between us."

"Nothing?" Finn asked with a crooked eyebrow.

"Nothing."

"So, you don't fancy kissing her, don't want to hold her hand, cuddle…"

Logan shot his friend a dirty look. "You've been reading too many of those fucking girly magazines!"

"Alright," Finn waved his free hand. "So, you don't want to bang her 'till she's dizzy, make her scream your name..."

"Finn!" Logan yelled in a hushed tone.

"Mate!"

"No, Finn," Logan sighed. "She's like, my sister."

"Yeah, a really hot sister, who is cool and funny and likes her some liquor and gives you goo-goo eyes!"

"More like the clingy, annoying baby sister," Logan scoffed. Saying he'd rather not have this conversation with Finn was an understatment. This didn't even make it on to his to-do list, but he knew Finn wouldn't be happy until he had an answer - even if it was an outright lie. Maybe he would have liked to confide in Finn, but Logan knew he couldn't run the risk of any of this getting back to Mitchum, or worse. Rory. Even though rejection didn't seem like a realistic possibility between the two of them - one never knew.

"Whatever you say, mate." Finn paused, before giving it one last go. "What about the goo-goo eyes?"

"Figment of your imagination," Logan said tightly.

Finn looked down at the coffee and took a sip. "Good God and all that is holy! This stuff is revolting! Instant coffee! Beer is the only substance that can fix this poor excuse of a drink!"

"Alright," Logan said, shaking his head at his friend's antics, "but let's move the party to the movie room." He cast a longingly gaze to the couch. "Rory's sleeping."

"That she is," Finn agreed, before setting off in the direction of the movie room. Logan waited for a moment, debating whether to bring Rory an extra blanket, or pillow, but decided against it and followed Finn for a couple of beers in the movie room.

* * *

**Cliffie? You be the judge!**

**I love Finn just as much as I love Rogan and Lorelai so that says a lot! I'm glad he's back and he'll be a pretty key character in the plot, at least for the next few chapters. I know you want Rogan to happen in this story and it will. It will. **

**But it's a Game and we are no where near the last round. Let me know what you think – it's very much a WIP and the plot changes by the day, so anything you want to happen put it out there and I might be inspired! Review, review and love, love! **


	12. Round Twelve: New Friends

**Round Twelve: New Friends **

**Congrats to Krazy Karah for being the 300****th**** reviewer on this fic. That's so cool and thank-you all so much for reading and sticking with it. Quick reminder. Logan and Rory are now in London. Together, yet, as always, still apart. Finn is there to act as the (drunk) voice of reason and to be a good friend. Updates might be more frequent these coming weeks because I'm off from school. But no promises. Hope you enjoy this one! Much Love. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own GG. **

* * *

Logan had a nice couch. It was one of those low to the ground, sleek, modern, black leathery ones. It didn't look cozy, or inviting. But, then again, it really wasn't supposed to. Some European highbrow with an unbelievabley hard to pronounce name had designed – nay, envisioned - it as the focal point of the room. A real eye-catcher. A work of art.

Under normal circumstances the couch, the crown on this king of bachelor pads, would have been a reason to start mocking relentlessly; however, through jetlagged eyes the couch looked inviting. Comfortable even.

As Rory rested her head against the ergonomically designed blood red pillow, she heard Finn's voice trailing from the kitchen.

"...quite a display of animosity there. Fighting about coffee this early in the mission?"

Rory felt the corners of her mouth tug into a smile. They weren't fighting - it was their thing.

"We weren't fighting..." Her smile grew even further as Logan agreed with her. The footsteps stopped and Logan's voice dropped to a whisper. A frown quickly replaced her smile and that warm-and-fuzzy feeling that had been with her since touching down in London was replaced by nerves. Finn's grilling and Logan's harsh words caused her to squeeze her eyes shut, partly to keep up her sleeping façade, but also to not let the tears that threatened to flood her eyes fall.

Thankfully, the men shuffled away but not before delivering the final blow, with Logan labeling her a clingy, annoying baby sister.

Rory re-opened her eyes and was met by darkness. Logan had switched off the lights. How thoughtful for a guy who thought of her as a sister! A real display of brotherly love. The movie theater must have been on the other side of the house, since Rory could hear a pin drop. There would be no more earth shattering eavesdropping revelations for her tonight.

She had also failed to receive the exact location of her apartment, let alone the key and going to find Logan, or Finn, was certainly not an option now. It seemed that her first night in London would be spent in the clothes she'd been wearing for over 24 hours, on the sleek black couch, in a penthouse that looked like it was taken from Bachelors Digest, that belonged to a man who thought of her as a clingy, annoying, baby sister.

Before resigning to her fate, Rory cast a glance around the room and spotted a blanket on the square ottoman next to her. It would have to do.

As Rory waited for that woozy feeling of sleep to come, she couldn't help her thoughts drifting to Logan and what she had heard.

It wasn't supposed to matter, after all, he was her mentor. She wasn't supposed to plant ideas of kissing, hand-holding or as Finn so eloquently put it - "banging her until she's dizzy" - in his head. Rory wasn't supposed to give him goo-goo eyes; however, she was fairly sure that on at least one occasion she did.

Why else would he compliment her? Make her coffee (albeit instant)? Fix his gaze on her? Certainly not for an annoying, clingy, baby sister. For the hot sister, perhaps.... Rory kicked that thought out her mind as quickly as it entered.

Mentor, damn it, Logan was her mentor. She was starting the Writers Program on Monday. This was her big shot to break free of the rumors that clung to her back home. This was her shot to prove that she was more than her last name. This would show the world that her talent was real.

Rory swallowed hard and in the dark of the night it all seemed so clear: she couldn't and wouldn't risk that over a boy.

Even if he had perfect hair and a winning smile. Even if he made her knees go weak. Even if he put thoughts of kissing, hand-holding and firework sex in her mind. He was still a boy that could take her and break her and she would not let that happen again.

Eventually, Rory fell into a deep sleep - something can be said for the combination of jetlag and ergonomic pillows.

* * *

Logan awoke the following morning with the slightest of hangovers. A few beers with Finn always turned into more than what could be considered a few and that combined with jetlag could never be defined as a winning combination. He made his way down the hall and into the living room, where he absentmindedly flipped on the light.

"Ah, shit!" he mumbled as he caught sight of Rory's sleeping form on the couch. His heart dropped slightly as Logan realized that she had spent the whole night on that uncomfortable couch. Instead of suggesting to drink, he should have taken her up to her apartment....

Logan knew there was no way a sleeping Rory could have heard his words, but it still felt wrong. Even if he couldn't actually be with Rory, he still hated that he'd denounced her to something as terrible as the annoying baby sister.

Not that he'd ever had one, but from the stories Finn told, he knew that baby sisters were the worst on the ranks.

It was far too early to be so caught up, he reasoned to himself as he dimmed the lights for Rory. Logan had to be in The City by 6:30 this morning and standing here, looking at her was wasting valuable time.

And not to mention, a little creepy.

* * *

Rory stirred slightly as the room filled with light. She knew it was him, but her subconscious forced her to feign sleep. She couldn't place her finger as to why, but sleep was more important than seeing him this morning.

A few hours later, the delicious sweet scent of coffee filled the house. Her eyes fluttered open in anticipation - this was not an instant morning - and was surprised as she was met by a strange, but familiar smile and warm, welcoming eyes.

"Here you go, love," a thick Aussie accent cut through the room.

"Finn?"

Finn's smile dropped as he handed her the coffee. "You know, no woman has ever forgotten my name before..."

"I haven't had the coffee yet so it doesn't count..." Rory brushed off his comment, before taking a big gulp of the tasty beverage, followed by another. And another. Finn watched slightly bemused as Rory polished off the 16 oz. of coffee in a few sips.

"Good stuff, Finnegan Morgan Rothschild, heir of Rothschild Hotels," Rory said finally, and she handed him back the cup. "And if I'm not mistaken you promise the women complete satisfaction, 100% of the time...?"

"I stand corrected," Finn laughed, before handing her another cup of java goodness.

"Thanks," Rory said with a smile and popped the lid off the Styrofoam cup. "I was afraid I'd have to drink instant."

"Please, love," Finn shook his head, "Instant coffee is like "Ten Things I Hate About You, the TV Show"....

Rory smirked, agreeing, "So far away from the real thing, it can't even see it..."

"Exactly," Finn raised his coffee cup to her.

Rory mimicked the gesture, surprising herself how comfortable the banter between her and Finn flowed. "So if you are such a coffee purist, how come it's not around the house?"

A twisted smile appeared on his face and he shrugged. "There is a cute red head at the coffee place." Finn let out a deep sigh. "One day she'll say more than "and here's your change" to me..."

Laughter filled the house as Rory changed to a more comfortable position on the couch. "Just ask her out Finn, or pay with your black card for a change...."

Finn scoffed. "Jasmine isn't that shallow!"

"Whatever you have to tell your self..." Rory said with a slightly mocking laugh.

"Now why do you have to go and be like this, love?" Finn pouted as he stood up from the ottoman he was sitting on. "I go, I get you coffee, I deliver it to you this morning and then you treat me this way!"

"What way?" Rory asked innocently as Finn let himself drop on the couch.

"Like you don't care about me and Jasmine. You do realize that she could be the Love of my Life!"

"Ooh, Finn. I think you are becoming a Cosmo Girl!" Rory chuckled and she swung her arm around Finn's shoulder. "And you know as well as I that you didn't just get me coffee in exchange for advice on the whole Jasmine situation..."

"I didn't?" Finn asked with a raised eyebrow.

"No, Finn, you didn't" Rory said with mocking sincerity as she locked her eyes to his.

A moment of silence filled the apartment, before he cracked.

"Love! You have to understand, I have to know what the deal is between you and Logan!" Finn blurted. Shocked, Finn covered his mouth with his hands, but it was too late. Rory threw her head back in laughter. "Easy!"

"Dirty! But also true!" He shot back with a laugh. He waited a moment for her to calm down, before pressing the matter further. "Love?"

Rory ran her finger around the rim of her coffee cup. "There's nothing going on Finn."

"Are you sure? Because I've seen the eyes and..."

There can't be something going on, Finn," Rory looked at him, the faintest of smiles playing on her lips.

"But..." Finn dropped his voice to a whisper. "He likes you!"

This put Rory into stunned silence for a moment, before she could recuperate. "He doesn't."

"Oh why?" Finn asked, raising his hands. "Just because he called you an annoying sister?" He chuckled at the surprised etched on Rory's features and continued, "I know you weren't asleep last night, love. And don't worry, baby sister is man-code for I like you."

Rory wasn't sure whether to be angry or happy, so she chose to cross her arms over her chest and go the sarcastic route. "What are we? In fifth grade? It doesn't work like that, Finn!"

"It's true."

"Says the boy who can't even ask red-head Jasmine out on a date!"

"I'm not talking about her now," Finn said, "I'm talking about you!"

"Well, let's stop," Rory shot him a pointed look.

"Love…"

"Finn." Rory said sternly. "You are not my best friend, you aren't my mother, I don't owe you any sort of explanation!"

She felt bad as the smile in Finn's eyes disappeared. She was risking their fragilely formed friendship, but really this wasn't any of Finn's business.

"Fine."

The pair sat their in silence taking sips of their coffees. It really wasn't any of his business, Rory told herself. It was all too complicated to explain to a stranger. And for Finn to blurt that about Logan sent her recent resolve into a spin. Like - let alone love - could not complicate this and how would that Aussie, love-loving boy understand that?

After a few minutes, Finn cleared his throat and effectively broke the silence. "I'm sorry to drag you from your thoughts, Rory, but Logan left me to take care of you today..."

His tone was much more distant than before; it was obvious that he was hurt by Rory's unwillingness to open up.

"He trusted a playboy like yourself with me?" she answered sarcastically, never taking her eyes of her now empty cup.

"Yes." Finn answered simply; too good nurtured to feed Rory's behavior.

"Okay, well, then let's go. I assume you are taking me to my apartment, because there is no way that I'll be sleeping on that piece of shit couch tonight."

Finn nodded and headed for the door. Rory followed obediently, but she couldn't ignore that bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. She genuinely liked Finn as a friend, not an object of affection and she didn't want to nip this would-be friendship in the bud.

He held the elevator for her; a short ride since there was only one floor separating her apartment and Logan's. The few steps from the elevator to the front door were also covered in complete silence and Rory's eyes were fixed on the marble tile as Finn jiggled the keys from his front pocket.

"Home sweet home," Finn said as he gestured to her apartment. She had expected to see something similar to Logan's place but it was nothing alike. Pale yellow walls. Big, comfy armchairs, covered in crisp white fabric. Framed pictures of friends and family graced the wall and she had a giant oak bookcase packed with books. It was homey, it was cozy. It was her.

"Who did this?" Rory asked as she ran her hand across a copy of the Princess Diaries - the book she had been reading when she'd met Logan.

"Not him," Finn said, fighting back the urge to smile. "It was Mitchum; the old bat knew you were coming. He and Richard had this thing planned out to a T."

Something about the familiarity with which Finn spoke those names caused Rory to turned around and shoot him a questioning look. "You knew my grandfather?"

Finn granted her a soft smile. He knew she was trying to figure out how he knew Richard and Logan did not. He dug his hands in his pockets as he spoke.

"You know Rosemary Cardin, right?"

"Total sweet heart," Rory replied reflexively. Rosie was not a total sweet heart, but she was a society girl. And it was an unspoken rule that they were all 'sweet hearts'.

"Well, I thought so, too," Finn smiled as he started his trip down memory lane. "I had met her at a party in London when I was sixteen. It was the stuff romantic comedies are made of, you know, bon fire, music playing, your eyes meet across the muddy field.... "

He let out a girlish sigh, before continuing, "...love at first sight. The guys kicked me in the bollocks for that one, but it was true. I was so enticed by her entire being, I followed her around Europe for the rest of the summer. The girl she was traveling with - Madeline- decided to stay in London to entertain some guy she had met and I couldn't let my precious love travel alone... After our eight-week trek across the continent, I put her on a plane but couldn't let her go so I followed her to Hartford."

"Are you sure this is the same Rosemary?" Rory asked, suppressing a laugh. The Rosie she knew had a slightly different reputation.

"She was excited to see me," Finn continued ignoring Rory's snarky sounding comment. "Rosemary took me to the Hayden Summer Will Never End Celebration, which I suppose is... "

"...mine," Rory said with a sheepish grin as she suddenly remembered the party Finn was referring too. "Oh my god. You were at that party?"

"Yes!" Finn exclaimed, before falling back to a solemn tone. "It was the most tragic night of my life - I went off to get some drinks for Rose and myself and I came back to her practically fucking Ben Sotherfield on the couch!"

Rory's eyes widened and a barely audible "Oh my god," escaped her lips.

"I was about to take Benny-boy out back, when two gentlemen stopped me..."

"Grandpa and Mitchum, right?" Rory asked, trying to hold back a smile at the memory. The summer never ends party was something of a Hayden-Gilmore legend, though something neither her grandfather or Mitchum approved of. They would always show up for about an hour or so, to check up on Lorelai and Chris' parenting skills before witnessing something horrifying and leaving. The next day Rory would always be summoned and drilled to see if she had engaged in any inappropriate behavior.

"You can stop smiling, Rory," Finn said crossing his arms over his chest. "Rosie broke my heart."

By the way Finn said it, Rory knew it to be true. And it was sad, since that night had also marked the night of her heartbreak. "I'm sorry, Finn," Rory said with a small smile.

"Don't worry. I heard someone's night was far worse than mine..."

Rory's smile dropped immediately and Finn felt terrible instantly. He stepped closer to her and put an arm around her shoulder. "Love?"

With that touch, and those words, their first fight as friends was over. Rory looked up and met his worried looking eyes. "Me," she let out through a deep sigh. "It was me. I had the worst night."

"You?"

"I guess Grandpa and Mitchum had already kicked you out," Rory shrugged, "but I'm sure you read about it the next day in the papers... "

"How the police ended up escorting Tristan DuGrey off the property?" Finn asked, with eyes wide.

"Don't say his name," Rory snapped as her eyes darted around the room. Finn was taken aback by this sudden change in attitude, but he was wise enough not the press the subject. After a few moments of tense silence, Rory opened up to him.

"He... he was my boyfriend and after that party he wasn't anymore." It was a simple explanation, but Finn knew there was more to it.

"So you called the police? Hell hath no fury..."

Rory ignored his attempt at being funny as she fixed her gaze on the beautiful vase of flowers in the room.

"He was amazing at first. Like, really amazing and all my friends - single and taken - were jealous. He brought me coffee and waited for me after class. He was good to my Mom, and talked business with my dad and he was sweet to my grandparents. He had even played golf with Mitchum at the Club," Rory spoke calmly, though her voice was distant; detached.

"He had a little bit of a mean streak. He got really jealous of other guys, and he hated how involved I was with the paper and that I'd never drink or party during weeknights...." Rory trailed off as the memories caught up with her.

She swallowed hard, before continuing, "He was my first. He called me his angel. And I thought he loved me. I loved him. I told him, the day of the party. He came over early for breakfast before my mom and I left for pre-party pampering and I took him to the gazebo in the backyard and I told him that I loved him. He stood there, smiling. And he said he loved me too."

Rory blinked hard, forcing her gaze to stay on the books, and not trail to Finn. "So imagine my surprise when I leave his side for three minutes and he's gone. Rosie informs me that he is outside with Ginger Reynolds. I walk out to the porch and find them together, pressed up against the gazebo. Shirts off. Pants unbuckled. His hands fingering the waistband of her skirt."

This last bit broke Finn's heart and he wrapped his strong arms in a comforting hug. "Ooh, love. I'm so sorry."

He-who-didn't-love-me-back was a thing of the past. Rarely spoken about and only felt as dull moments of fleeting pain. However, rehashing the events of her tragic night brought it back so vividly that she couldn't help the few tears that escaped her eyes.

"It was our gazebo," Rory whispered into his shirt. Finn stroked her hair and waited a couple of minutes for her to calm down.

"So you called the police?"

She pulled back and caught the funny look on his face. "You say that like it's a weird thing.... No, we got into this huge argument – cue dramatic music, hurling snack platters at him and swearing – and it ended with me asking him if he loved me. If he ever loved me. And he dug his hands into his pockets, cast his eyes to the ground and said he didn't. He couldn't even look at me! I realized there, with 150 of my so-called friends around me, that I was nothing to him, a thing, a fling and the fact that I had given him everything I had meant nothing to him. A joke."

"And _then_ you called the police?" Finn asked with a crooked eyebrow.

Rory shrugged. "Seemed like the only sane thing to do."

"Yeah," Finn nodded. "DuGrey, huh. If I ever run into him…." He shot her a pointed look.

"Thanks, Finn," she smiled and gave him a quick hug.

"That's what friends are for," he told her.

Rory nodded. "I'm sorry I was such a bitch before," she sighed, "it's just, I don't like talking about He-who-didn't-love-me-back…"

"Don't worry, love," Finn reassured her, "I get it. He is why you don't want to admit…"

Rory shook her head adamantly, "Don't go there, Finn. I'm here for the Writers program. After that party, I sort of went off the deep-end…"

She waited a beat to see if Finn's expression would change, or if he would scoff, judging her. But he didn't. Instead he simply nodded for her to continue.

"… that bad reputation still follows me. People think I can't do anything, that I live off my family's money and that I'm a stuck-up society-bimbo. I want this, Finn. I want to show everyone that I can write, that I can do it without the help of my last name."

"Logan wouldn't have to change that, love," Finn told her gently. "The boy is a writer himself, he'll understand how important it is…"

Rory shot him a half-smile. Maybe Logan would, but it would also entail revealing more of her past than she wanted. It was nice to have Logan think of her as a perfectly smart, intelligent, squeaky-clean non-society-society girl.

"He's like a mentor to me, Finn. He can't know that the gossip is true. Mitchum never told him, you can't tell him either…" Rory said, hoping that her words sounded convincing. He locked his brown eyes to her and waited a beat, seeing if she would crack under the pressure, but she didn't.

"Mentor it is, then," Finn smiled, just as the doorbell rang. He opened it and a delivery man pushed a giant gift basket in his hands, as a second man walked into the room and placed a big box on the counter.

"What is this, Finn?"

"Looks like a coffee maker to me," he shrugged. "An obnoxiously big coffee maker, but a coffee maker none the less."

"Oh, I've got to call my mom!" Rory clapped her hands excitedly. "Sending me Java's twin, Joe is so like her!"

"Who, love?" Finn questioned, furrowing his brow and he handed her the card attached to the basked of coffee.

_Morning Ace! Sorry you slept on the couch last night…doesn't leave you with a good impression of your first night in London. Also sorry to leave you with Finn all day. Gives you an even worse impression of the City. I have to be at the office all day, so to make up for slacking at my mentoring tasks, I got you some real coffee and a coffee maker. Keep it at your place, though, I can't have my place contaminated! _

Finn watched Rory as she read the note. "Take it that's not your mothers' handwriting, is it?"

"Logan. Said it sucks for me to be stuck with you all day," Rory grinned.

"That boy…" Finn shook his head. "Can I ask you something, love?"

"Shoot," Rory said, not entirely focused on the conversation as she was busy unwrapping her coffee basket.

"Are you attracted to me?"

This question succeeded in grabbing her attention. "Excuse me?"

"You know, goofy grin, smile in the eyes…"

Rory quickly studied his face to see if he was joking. "No, no, Finn. I'm not….." she bit her bottom lip subtly. "Are you….?" She shot him a half smile as she vaguely pointed at herself.

"My god, no!"

She let out a sigh of relief before continuing sarcastically, "Well, thank-you, Finn. Complimenting is really your forte."

"No," Finn sighed, "I didn't mean it like that. You know I love the red heads…"

Rory smiled, "You should move to Scotland, has more red head than any other part of the world!"

"Really?" Finn seemed intrigued by this factoid, but wouldn't let this mess up the point he was trying to make. "You see, love, you and I are not attracted to each other. I can already tell that you and I have a unbreakable bond, yet, I will never have the urge to sleep with you."

"Thank-god for that," Rory joked, but Finn didn't smile.

"We are kind of like brother and sister…."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Rory agreed as she held up a pack of coffee. "Oh, look, Finn. Sumatra blend!"

He took the coffee from her and smiled, "Do you see what I'm trying to say, love?"

"That it's time to test Joe the Coffeemaker out!" Rory replied giddily. Finn watched as Rory maneuvered her way around the kitchen as if she had been living in the place for years.

"Whatever you have to tell yourself, love," he mumbled to himself, before he helped her install the giant coffee maker.

* * *

**So. There we go. A ton of dialogue in this chapter. Some more of Rory's past. Not so much Rogan. Or Logan, but he'll be back in the next chapter. Finn will stay around for a while. And next chapter I'll probably introduce some new characters. Please review :) **


	13. Round Thirteen: Distractions

**Thank-you all for the super sweet reviews on the last chapter! Your dedication to this story continues to amaze me!!! It's long, this one is, so I hope you enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own GG. **

* * *

Logan wasn't the type to shy away from confrontation; avoid the matters at hand. He was impulsive, spontaneous and didn't care about the details. He lived far too in the moment to care about the repercussions of his actions. As a teenager, this kind of behavior had him in hospital beds and on a first name basis with all of his father's lawyers. On the few occasions he had travelled back to Hartford, it was the reason for legendary screaming matches with his father and his casual attitude contributed to the gossip – people considered him to be the brazenfaced son of one of the most poised men in society.

However, since starting at the London Publications Division at HPG, Logan's way of trusting his impeccable business instincts, quick decision making and a general 'just do it' approach earned him a reputation as a force to be reckoned with and turned the floundering division around. Not that it was his passion, but he figured that if he played by his father's rules for a few more years – and succeeded – he would eventually gain free reign and venture into something he truly was passionate about. It was no wonder, then, that Huntzberger had left the apartment early in the morning, leaving his forced-upon protégé resting uncomfortably on the couch.

However, one had to wonder _why_ he had decided to work an eighteen hour day, instead of a more reasonable eight, and left the introductory mentoring duties up to Finn. He convinced himself he wasn't avoiding her, but that he simply needed to work. A coffee pot and an apologetic note let her know that he truly was sorry.

By the time Logan returned to the apartment it was late at night. He found Finn in his room, passed out with a half glass of red wine, empty box of bonbons and a few copies of Cosmopolitan Magazine. Logan assumed that Rory had left the party and gone up to her place, since she wasn't at his. Her presence remained though. In the few hours she'd been there, it was different. His carefully crafted bachelor pad had been infiltrated by a girl. Her sweet scent - a mix of jasmine shampoo, vanilla body lotion and laces of freshly brewed coffee - seemed to have pervaded the air in his apartment.

And for that reason Logan excused himself from his mentoring duties for a second day in a row and found himself back at his modern, important-looking glass and steel desk. It was rarely quiet at the office; however, it was on this particular afternoon.

Of course, on the day he needed distraction there wasn't any. The phones weren't ringing, his e-mail wasn't pinging with alerts of important new messages and his blackberry wasn't vibrating with must-read texts. He had reviewed all of the new contracts, signed-off on deals with investors, looked at proposals and lined up some prospects for the next quarter. Logan had even done the most mundane things, like organize his bookshelf and rifle through desk drawers, throwing away busted pens, twisted paperclips and rusty thumbtacks.

One folder remained on his desk – the For the Future Writers Program. It was a typical manila file folder

and contained a spreadsheet of all the participants, the program outline and list of seminars the participants would be taking. Logan quickly flicked through the pages – it all looked simple and straightforward – but it wasn't.

Logan let out a frustrated sigh and tossed the folder back on his desk, before getting up and grabbing a Coke from his fridge. He let himself fall back in his leather arm chair, popped the can on his drink and took a big sip and savored the fizziness on his tongue as he leaned back in his chair.

When Mitchum explained the concept to him, it all seemed so simple. Take a girl in, put her in that apartment above him and make sure she gets through the Writers Program without a hitch. The only catch was that he had to leave the girl alone. Obviously, Mitchum hadn't spoken about 'love' in the traditional sense; however, that was probably because the old man doubted his son was actually capable of engaging in a full-blown, committed, love me, love you type of love. Logan didn't have any qualms about breaching the agreement with Mitchum if he was completely sure of his feelings.

And that's where things got complicated, that's what had him hiding out in his office. He couldn't deny being wrapped up in her. But was it love? No other girl had ever caught his attention like this before. But this wasn't a seven hour plane ride followed by a string of flirty texts. This wasn't a coy conversation over soup and sandwiches. This was a lot more.

Logan heaved a heavy sigh as he let his chair snap back to its normal position. His eye caught hold of the manila folder once more and he dropped his head and massaged his neck slightly. This program mean the world to her and he didn't to mess it up for her. He didn't want to distract her from obtaining her goal. She was in London to write – not to be with him. He understood and yet het couldn't stop himself from sending her that damned coffee maker.

Being impulsive gave him control of the situation and now, with her, with a girl practically living in his apartment, her high expectations of him – as a mentor! – sent his head into a spin. He was not in control; this was uncharted territory. He had lost his grip.

Logan tipped back the last of his soda and conceded that he did not like being out of control. The office had lost it's function of being a distraction. It was time to go home and take back some of the power he relinquished.

* * *

"Hello!" Logan called out as he entered his apartment. He had half-expected to find Rory and Finn sipping wine and reading Cosmo on the couch, jumping up to meet him enthusiastically, but apparently, Logan wasn't on either of their minds as his call was met by silence.

Music, laughter and chatter came from the kitchen, so Logan decided that that was his best bed. As he stepped into the area, he went unnoticed. Finn and Rory were completely wrapped up in their world and Logan was slightly surprised that the two had seemed to from an unbreakable bond in such a short period of time. He leaned against the doorway as he watched the two interact.

Rory sat on the countertop, still clad in baggy navy sweat pants and a light blue tank top, even though it was well into the afternoon. Her hair was swept up in a goofy ponytail and any strays were held back by a thick elastic headband. A coffee cup sat beside her as she held a cookbook in her right hand and a beater from the mixer in her left. She waved it around as if she was conducting a symphony; not minding that big drops of batter fell on the kitchen counter. Finn intently listened to her instructions as he bent over the counter, unknowingly exposing his boxers to Logan. Luckily, the front of the boy was covered by a cheeky apron.

She watched as Finn followed her directions, but it wasn't coming along. "Love, this doesn't look right to me!" Finn stopped stirring to examine the contents of the bowl carefully, before passing it on to Rory.

"It's too lumpy!" Rory concluded with a frown. She dunked her middle finger in the mixture for a taste, but gagged as soon as her finer made contact with her tongue. "This is no good," she informed him as she tossed her beater baton in the bowl and jumped off the counter. "We'll just have to start over! Get the flour!"

Finn let out a heavy sigh in protest. "Not again! Why don't we just go out?"

Rory stopped in her tracks and whipped her head around. "Because, Finn-love, these stupid London restaurants stop serving waffles at noon!"

"Money talks. We could order a chef!" Finn suggested with a hopeful smile, but Rory wasn't hearing it as she dropped the bowl in the sink. "I'm not ordering a chef!"

"But…" Finn tried to interject, but Rory was off on a ramble. "I mean, we should be able to make some waffles. I shouldn't have to depend on a restaurant or a chef to make me food…" She looked up at Finn and cocked her head to the side. "How do you do it?"

Finn's lips curled into a smile, but he resisted the urge to say 'dirty' and take her question as an innuendo. "Logan can cook. Apart from the company it provides my lonely soul, the food is so good I can't stay away."

Logan grinned at his friend's answer, but his smile grew even further as he saw the surprise on Rory's face.

"He can?"

"That's right, he can!" Logan laughed and he revealed his presence. "And tell us, Bill, what else can he do?" he asked Finn.

"Well," Finn drew out, continuing smoothly in this fake infomercial scene, "… you won't believe it, but he slices and he dices and he makes julienne fries, whatever the hell those may be!"

Logan stayed in his role and let out a perfect gasp, prompting Finn to carry on. "But, wait, there's more! If you call us in the next four minutes and thirty seven seconds, he'll slice and he'll dice with a set of free, that's right, completely free set Ginsu Knives!"

"It's the legend of all knives!" Logan exclaimed in an overdramatic way and Finn nodded. "That's right; get your legend now!"

Logan switched back to the surprised voice and added a girlish squeal. "Really?"

"No, mate," Finn laughed, shaking his head, "I haven't a clue where to get Ginsu knives!"

"Just call the number on your screen now!" Rory chimed in with a hearty laugh. Finn joined her, though it took Logan by surprise. It shouldn't have; he knew the girl was funny. "Oh, julienne fries are just potatoes that have been cut into long thin strips."

Finn shot her a bewildered look. "You are like an encyclopedia, love."

Logan made brief eye contact as he nodded approvingly and her lips pulled into a involuntary smile. He didn't wait to see it, though, as he was busy glancing around his messy kitchen. "So, kids, what were we trying to make?"

"Waffles," Finn admitted through an exasperated sigh and Logan laughed, patting him on the back. "Never knew you were such a Suzie Homemaker!"

Finn looked up at Logan and shrugged deeply. "It's what the lady wanted and you know Finnegan has to satisfy the ladies…."

Logan let out an unimpressed snort. " So, she threatened to flush your vodka?"

"Bodily harm," Rory quipped through an easy smile and Logan chuckled. "Really, man?"

He simply raised his hands in defense. "She's got sharp nails."

As a wave of laughter came over Finn and Rory, Logan exchanged a quick glance between the pair, suddenly unsure whether they were joking or being sincere.

"Well then," Logan smirked as he started to roll up his sleeves. "Prepare to be dazzled as the master shows you how it's done…"

He chuckled a little to himself, making waffles wasn't exactly how he intended to take control of the situation, but it was working as he felt Rory's eyes on him.

"Not me, mate." Finn broke through Logan's thoughts. "I must take a shower. Some waffle batter has gotten onto bits it doesn't belong…" He shot Logan a pointed look and pointed at Rory. "Not a peep out of you!"

Rory threw her head back in laughter after mumbling a quick dirty. She continued laughing as Finn made his way out of the kitchen.

Logan's eyes on her ceased her laughing and she shot him a small smile. "Looks like it's just you and me then, stranger," she said as she hopped up onto the counter.

He stopped messing with the jars of flour and sugar for a moment to look at her. It was obvious that his absence affected her; however, he wasn't sure to what extent. Was she let down by him failing her as a mentor, or had she genuinely missed him?

"I'm sorry to have left you with Finn…" Logan said with an apologetic smile, but Rory waved his apologies away.

"You had to work, don't worry about it and Finn is the best London tour guide ever." Her smile was sincere, but her eyes and tone didn't exactly match. Still, he couldn't help feeling that she was giving him an easy out and he didn't want her to think that he didn't care. Logan shot her a half-smile. Normally girls scoffed at the boy's metro sexual tendencies and inappropriate innuendos. "Really?"

"Yeah, definitely," Rory nodded enthusiastically, "that boy is a hoot and a half."

"I'm glad you feel that way, Ace," Logan laughed genuinely.

"Besides," she continued her story, "I'm sure you were working on something really big and you didn't want any distractions…"

This caught his attention and he put her eyes to hers. "Distractions?"

"Finn barging into your office every five seconds wanting to know if he's a Winter or Autumn, if you fancy a drink or if those peg leg jeans make his butt look big…."

Logan snorted at the accurate description she was giving of Finn. It was true; the boy could certainly be distracting. He was a little bittersweet to realize that she did not place herself in that category, but then again, she wasn't all ego like him – she'd probably never admit that she fancied herself a distraction to him.

"Yeah," he said, letting the conversation linger in the air, before taking control. "Put that cookbook away. We've got waffles to make!"

"But, but, but…" she sputtered as he gently took the book away from her. "I'll make you waffles, but we don't need the book. I've got it covered."

Rory watched in awe as he loose-handedly poured some flour in a bowl, threw in a dash of sugar and cracked an egg. She had to admit, it was kind of sexy how he stood there, with his white dress-shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, his expensive leather business shoes still on his feet. Obviously, he wasn't worried about spilling batter on them as he self-assuredly maneuvered his way around the kitchen to make her some waffles.

"Hand me that whisk," he pointed at the jar of cooking utensils on the counter, "it's that silvery thing with the long narrow handle and the wire loops joined at the end."

Rory laughed as she fished the whisk from the container. "That's a very thorough description," she teased as she handed it to him.

"I wasn't sure if you knew; you don't strike me as much of a cook," he shot back lightly.

"Really now?" Rory said with mock sarcasm, "What ever gave you that idea?"

Logan dropped his head as a soft laugh escaped him and she bowed her head to meet his. "But I do know what a whisk is," she informed him with a sweet smile.

Her breath tickled a little on his neck, but she wasn't aware – or perhaps she was too keenly aware – of the signals she was giving off as her head had moved away from his and to the bowl of waffle mix. "Can I taste?"

Logan nodded and reflexively dipped his own finger in. For a split-second his batter-coated digit set off in the direction of her mouth, but Logan's brain quickly registered that her licking the batter off his finger would be crossing so many boundaries, so he popped it in his own mouth. His lips pulled in to an awkward smile as he licked clean his finger and used his other hand to gesture towards the bowl. She smiled an equally self-conscious grin as her finger dipped into the batter. She popped her finger in her mouth, but refrained from making it look sexy.

"So much better than Finn's concoction," Rory said approvingly. "You know what would make it better, though?"

Logan cocked his head to the side. "No, what?"

"Chocolate chips."

"No." Logan shot down the suggestion immediately. "Only a heathen would eat would a chocolate chip waffle, Ace!"

"Pagan! Party of one!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, as her hand flew up. He let out an amused snort, but he held firm on his no chocolate chip rule.

"Oh, come on!" she pleaded, lightly put off by his OCD waffle ways, "just try it!"

"Just like I tried Spanish Coffee?" he retorted.

Rory crossed her arms over her chest as she caught his gaze. "That was instant, so it doesn't count."

"It was still coffee that ruined a perfectly good shot of rum!"

"Instant, I tell you!"

Logan whipped his head around and looked at her in disbelief. "Ace!"

A moment of awkward tension passed between them, neither willing to back down in the Great Chips or No Chips debate.

"All I'm saying is that coffee and booze are entirely different from waffles and chocolate…." Rory tried again, causing Logan to let out a semi-exasperated sigh. "Just sprinkle the chips on top!"

For a moment, he thought his logic had won her over, but as soon as the pout appeared on her face he knew he had lost. That pout could slay any man, it wasn't just him who was affected by it.

"It's not the same," she said, before the pout turned into a sly smile. "Look, I'll cut you a deal. How 'bout if you sprinkle in a few handfuls of chocolate chips, then I will…."

"You'll what?" Logan asked, tipping his head to the side. Suddenly, their faces were undeniably close. It was because he was so tall and she had arched her back forward as she sat atop his counter, but really, just a few inches separated them. Rory cocked her head to the side, locking her eyes to his. "I'll drink a Coke."

He pulled away, putting some much needed distance between them. Her answer caught him off-guard, but then again, the whole exchange –everything recently – had, so he decided that maybe relinquishing control wasn't the way to go about this. Maybe going with the flow was better.

"You'll drink a Coke?" he asked again, with an disbelieving smirk gracing his face.

Rory nodded a quick nod. "I will."

"Well then, B…" Logan dumped the bag of chocolate chips in the bowl. "… you've got yourself a deal!"

By the time the waffles were done, Finn returned from his shower and with that, the tension that filled the room had evaporated. Rory was right, the Aussie boy really was an excellent distraction. They ate waffles, joked about the miserable state of Finn's love life and watched a movie – Rory's choice obviously. They called it a night around ten, since tomorrow marked the first day of the Writers Program.

Logan couldn't just call it a night, though, since he was too wrapped up in today's happenings. However, he refused to spend any more valuable time going over different scenarios in his mind. He was above that. He sat straight up in bed, his laptop resting comfortably on his lap as he punched the keys feverishly. It might be a Sunday night in London, but it was Monday morning in Asia. It wasn't really his market, but he had promised Mitchum to look into some opportunities in that part of the world. And Logan wasn't one to break a promise, was he?

Meanwhile, Rory lay a floor above him, tossing and turning in bed as sleep didn't come easily that night for her; the Waffle Incident was on constant loop in her mind. For the second time she had practically kissed Logan. The first could be blamed on jet-lag and her jumbled emotions still trying to process the death of her grandfather. The second time – leaning over a bowl of waffle batter in his kitchen – was inexcusable. She had told herself time and time again that she didn't want this; that she couldn't want this. Writing was her priority, not something that seemed like a lot of like, maybe even love. Rory forced herself to push thoughts of how easily their banter flowed and how perfect his lips looked to the far corners of her mind. She was in London to write, not play house with Logan and she was determined to succeed, she wouldn't let Mitchum or her grandfather down.

* * *

Monday morning arrived quickly, though it couldn't have come soon enough for Rory. This was the morning she had been waiting for, her new beginning. From now on, at least within FTF, she'd 'just' be Rory Gilmore. Her last name might sound familiar, but away from society and without the slew of her other names, she was sure she'd be treated as a normal girl.

She entered the Marriot Hotel with a huge grin plastered on her face. Finn had offered to walk her the block or so to the hotel, but Rory insisted on going alone. She flashed a quick smile at some of the other Future Writers as she followed them down the hall to the conference room, where the Introduction Assembly was set to take place.

Logan filled her in that he'd open the event with a speech and a breakfast social would follow, but he didn't elaborate on the details and he had left early, just leaving Finn to pass on good luck wishes this morning. Rory watched as other randomly took their seats, though she waited a moment to eye the available chairs in the room as the spot she picked now determined her place for the rest of the program.

A seat in the back was reserved for slackers, partiers: the rowdier crowd. Choosing to go on the first row, front and center, was far too eager, pretentious. She settled on a the third row from the front and picked a seat that was a little left of the middle chair. It offered a great view of the lectern (and Logan), but she wouldn't be in his direct view, which was good. He wasn't supposed to know her.

Rory cast a glance around the room and a content smile appeared on her face as she flicked through the welcome pamphlet she had received at the registration desk.

"Are these seats taken?" A silky smooth British accent drew her from her thoughts and she looked up. Her breath caught as her eyes locked on the face that could only belong to that voice. He was most definitely an attractive specimen in the traditional sense, what with his head of wavy chocolate-colored hair, deep, intelligent green eyes and his lips curved into a perfect smile, but he wasn't Rory's type. His voice; however, caused her to melt.

"S-s-sorry?" she managed as she realized that she had been staring at those lips for too long. She had officially crossed over to the awkward stare and that was a bad first impression.

"If these seats are taken?" he said again and smiled a little at her. "I'm sorry to have startled you."

"Oh," Rory sighed, suddenly hating the exaggerated tones of her harsh American accent. "You didn't startle me, these seats are free." She gestured vaguely at the hard blue chairs next to her and shot him an expectant smile.

"I'm Nicholas," he spoke as he extended his hand for her to shake.

"Rory," she introduced herself as she grabbed hold of his hand. They engaged in some idle chit-chat, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, except, of course, for his voice. Rory had heard the British accent many times before but nothing quite like his.

He seemed like a pretty good guy. Affluent, but not high in society, Rory could tell by his last-year Ralph Lauren wardrobe, but then again, she had walked in here toting her Birkin, so really, she wasn't one to judge. He didn't appear to hide behind his wealth, he seemed pretty intelligent and funny and he appeared to have a girlfriend, based on the perky blonde that was headed their direction.

"Oh, excellent seats, mate," the blonde chirped as she plopped down next to him on the chair. She immediately stuck out her hand and Rory took it. "I'm Gemma. I'm sure Nick introduced himself to you, yeah?"

Rory couldn't help but smile at the girl. She was a little brash, rough around the edges and so unlike the society types she usually met. She bounced and bubbled with life. For a split-second Rory pictured them as friends, cramming for tests, comparing notes and hanging out at some bar after classes.

"….so anyway, that's what I did when I found out I was accepted!," Gemma finished off her ramble with an excited nod. It was obvious she was waiting for Rory to share her acceptance story, but all she could muster was a smile, especially since she had tuned out the rest of Gemma's tale.

"What about you Nick?" Rory asked.

"Ooh, it's Nicholas for normal folk," Gemma interjected, "I'm the only one who can call him Nick."

"Perks of being a couple?" Rory inquired with a smirk, but Nicholas nixed that suggestion right away.

"Gemmy wishes she were my girlfriend," he informed her with a laugh, "but she'll never get past the best friend mark…"

"…what Nick means to say, is that he wishes he were my boyfriend," Gemma interjected, "…it's just that an unfortunate drunken night when we were seventeen determined that we'd be better off as best friends."

Rory stifled a laugh as she watched Gemma and Nicholas interact. The two seemed to have all the making to be sweethearts. She was about to ask Nicholas –not Nick – about how he ended up at the FTF Writers Program, when the lights dimmed slightly and the hundred or so heads in the room turned to face the stage.

Mouths opened slightly as the one-and-only Logan Huntzberger confidently strode across the podium and took his place behind the lectern. Gemma winked at Rory and she couldn't help but notice that a lot of the ladies in the room had their eyes on Logan for entirely different reasons, she had to agree with them, though; he looked like a star up on that stage.

Logan waited for the excited chatter to die down as he glanced around the room. He rested her eyes on Rory for a split-second before clearing his throat.

"A very good morning and a very warm welcome to all of you Future Writers." He waited for the polite round of applause to die down before he continued. "This morning marks the start of one of the most intense periods of your life. You have all been invited to participate in this program based on your exceptional writing talent.. Your drive, your motivation, your true passion for the field. And, just because you have that, just because you are sitting here today, doesn't mean the coming three months will be a walk in the park…."

He waited a beat for his words to sink in.

"The days will be long, the work will be challenging, people might drop out and only one position is available at the end. However, what's more important than the position at HPG at the end, is the experience you will gain. That, writers of the future, is invaluable. You will be exposed to all facets of writing life and you will meet the top men that work at, or are associated with Huntzberger Publishing Group, making them the industry leaders. Can anyone tell me what market share HPG currently holds in the market?"

About a dozen hands shot up, including Rory's. She had wanted to keep a semi-low profile the first day and not draw unnecessary attention to herself but she could not help being a show-off. She practically burst with pride as he tipped his head towards her and gestured for her to answer the question.

"Worldwide, HPG holds an exceptionally high market share of 76 per cent," she spoke in a clear confident tone. She felt the other Writers looking at her, probably bubbling with jealously. "It dominates the US, European and Australian market and ranks second in Asia, Africa and South-America. Regional publications are its most profitable asset; however, it's most known for publishing major papers like The Wall Street Journal, New York Times or the Telegraph here in the UK."

She kept her eyes on his as she answered the question, though she could here how know-it-all she sounded as she answer the question, she could practically hear the other participants role their eyes. Logan stopped the smirk that threatened to break out on his face – Rory was in this to win it and he liked it.

He nodded approvingly. "That's a very thorough description," Logan said and Rory was instantly transported back to his kitchen, talking about waffles and whisks.

He, on the other hand, kept his professional cool. "This young lady is a force to take into consideration. Showcasing one's knowledge, willing to expand that knowledge and a competitive streak are needed to be successful in this program," Logan boomed into his microphone, before shooting off another question and giving other participants the chance to outshine Rory.

"That was some kick-off, wasn't it?" Gemma sighed dreamily as the three stood in line for coffee at the breakfast social. "I can't believe Mr. Huntzberger called you a force to reckon with! I mean, on the first day and all…"

Rory looked at Gemma incredulously and Nicholas stepped in. "You've got to forgive Gemmy, she's starstruck. If there was a Logan Huntzberger fan club she's be president."

Rory shot a quick glance around the room as she laughed uncomfortably. "Really? Why?" she changed her tone a little as she suddenly found herself on the receiving end of one of Gemma's death glares. "I mean, at the end of the day, he's just a guy, too, right?"

It was Gemma's turn to shoot Rory a disbelieving look and Nicholas let out a hearty laugh. "No one has ever dared say that to Gem."

Rory laughed in return and kept up causal conversation with him as Gemma kept a firm eye on the object of her fan club. They shuffled up to the table where there was a spread of coffee, tea, muffins and bagels and Rory helped herself.

Before attempting to mingle, Rory took a sip of her coffee. "Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the camel!"

"Is there a problem?"

Rory whipped her head around and met Logan's gaze head on. She looked down at her paper coffee cup and held it out in front of her. "Uh, this is really bad coffee."

A smirk flashed across his face as Gemma let out a horrified gasp. "Oh, Mr. Huntzberger, sir! She didn't mean that. This coffee is perfectly fine…." She took a big sip to demonstrate that the coffee was drinkable, but the way her nose scrunched up in disgust told the truth. "… it's the best!" she added, in an attempt to save face.

"Call me Logan and don't worry about it. I don't drink the stuff, so I'm not offended if you hate it…." Logan laughed as extended his hand to Gemma.

The girl eagerly grabbed hold of Logan's hand, but she was too caught up in the moment to reveal her name.

"Gemma," Rory supplied for her with a smile and she turned to Nicholas. "This is Nicholas, though you can't call him Nick. I made that mistake earlier…"

Logan nodded slowly, though he shot her a little look of disproval. If Rory kept up this friendly, casual attitude her cover would be blown in no time. Plus, he'd seen the little grin Nicholas had given her just now and he wasn't too fond of it.

"Rory," Nicholas chastised lightly, "Logan can call me Nick if he wants…"

"Mr. Huntzberger," Logan corrected with a firm smile, "and I'd like to take you up on that offer, Nick."

Nicholas frowned slightly – he ruined making his first impression - but didn't let it bother him. He extended his hand, trying to salvage what was left of the few precious minutes with the big boss. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Huntzberger and it's a great honor to be here."

"Someone in admissions let you through, Nick, you've earned it…" Logan replied coolly and quickly shook the boy's hand, before turning to Rory.

"And your name, miss? I need to let the people responsible know who had issues with the coffee…."

"Rory," she said and avoided looking him in the eye as he shook her hand. The world didn't come to a screeching halt as their hands touched, like Rory semi-expected, business continued as usual since Logan continued with his standard welcoming shtick.

"Lovely to meet you, Rory. Fantastic way to answer that question," he complimented her and she smiled absentmindedly taking another sip of her coffee.

He sighed to himself as he saw her face contort and gently took the cup away from her.

"But, but, but…" she sputtered in protest.

"It's probably instant," he said sweetly, looking at the brownish liquid in the cup. She chuckled and the two shared a brief look before he turned away to mingle with the others.

Rory's lips curled into a thoughtful smile as she watched Logan introduce himself to other groups of eager, jittery future writers, all hoping that their clichéd introductory sentences would be the one to wow Logan, the one to make the lasting impression. Looking at it through society eyes, she couldn't help feel a little disgusted about how everyone was playing major suck-up. It never occurred to her that it might be genuine.

Still, she couldn't wait to start with the real program. Gemma and Nicholas's talking invaded her thoughts and she forced her eyes off Logan to focus on the conversation with her new friends.

Logan was right. This was going to be hard.

* * *

**And if you think that was hard, it's going to get harder. We are dealing with denial, avoidance and a bunch of mixed signals here… Gem and Nick won't cause all that much drama (if Love Squares is what you wish I refer you to my other story Messing with Forever) but they'll certainly stick around for awhile…. Thanks for reading & please review! Much love! **


	14. Round Fourteen: In Sickness

**I don't believe in New Years Resolutions – if you want change, do it now. However, I will try to be better about updating. Thanks for loving this story as you do; it still means so much that you allow my little flurries of imagination grow into a real story! xo**

**disclaimer: i do not own gg **

* * *

Honestly, Logan hadn't known what to expect when the program started in earnest. On paper, it all seemed straightforward. Him taking on his role of mentor, Rory living in the penthouse above him as she worked through the program and Finn hamming up his charmingly harmless playboy character.

But he knew it was not.

The tension on the flight over was real. They jokes about instant versus real coffee and mock arguments about chocolate chip versus plain waffles were laced with flirty undertones. The lingering looks. The tiny jolt of excitement that ran through him whenever she happened to cross his mind. Having her sit in his classroom every Tuesday morning from 8:00 – 10:00 am, drinking up his every word was equally the best and worst part of his week.

It really was the only time they had face to face contact. Of course, he wanted to spend it with her and not with her and 29 other students, going over everything from his father's success to hot trends in the paper industry, but Logan deliberately kept his distance. Self-preservation, obviously, but luckily his demanding work schedule didn't make his behavior seem out of the ordinary.

It just made it easier to avoid her and make certain he wouldn't be the one giving into the flirty smiles and tension, because Rory certainly wasn't going to be the one to do it. Apparently, her excitement about the FTF Writers Program was sincere.

If Logan hadn't already dubbed her 'Ace', she would have certainly earned that title by now. The girl who was once 'Birkin', with bug-eyed sunglasses and snarky quips seemed to have disappeared completely. This new girl, Ace, soaked up luncheons with the semi-influential people, the three-thousand word essays on technological advances in modern farming, the student-to-student interviews, the literature reviews, the lectures; she had an insatiable appetite for it all. From what he could tell, based on his own observations, Rory's life revolved around class assignments, hour-long phone calls with the home front, hanging out with her new best friend Finn and sipping lattes and comparing notes with Gemma and Nick.

Logan liked those two alright. They were committed to the program, though Gemma was a little forward (Finn via Rory told him about Gemma's fan-club tendencies) and he kept his eye on Nick. Mostly because of the look he had given Rory during the kick-off assembly. As far as he knew, there hadn't been any more looks, but one could never be certain.

Even if contact between Logan and Rory was limited, it didn't mean that she hadn't made an incredible impact on the lives of Finn and, more so, Logan. He knew about Rory and Finn's immediate friendship. He knew that she always joined Finn for breakfast and had fallen into the annoying (no, endearing!) habit of leaving her coffee mug in his sink. It was there, every night, without fail, practically mocking him, reminding Logan of the girl that now lived just one floor above him.

The first time it happened Logan let it be, caught up by wondering if it was some kind of sign or simply a forgotten mug. The second night, there was another so he hand-washed them both and scribbled a note:

"_Wouldn't want you running out of mugs, Ace! Must keep that brain of yours well nourished."_

It was a small, friendly and perhaps insignificant gesture but it lead to a routine. Rory and Logan communicated solely via notes, save from his Tuesday morning lecture. He kept the notes – trivial, yet so important messages scribbled in her perfect scrawl, each revealing a little something more to that mysterious girl he had met all those months ago.

This Tuesday morning marked the fifth class. It would be about sales techniques and the all-important elevator pitch, essential for the business side of writing; but also for journalists and writers to pitch books and topics for articles. Logan was pretty sure that Rory would enjoy this lecture – he'd hinted about it in his last note – but he couldn't mask his disappointment as there wasn't a little yellow piece of paper waiting for him this morning.

No note. Normally, if there notes lead to a dead point, she'd liven 'm up with a fun fact, or movie quote. But this morning she'd left nothing.

He didn't allow himself time to ponder the implications of the (purposely?) forgotten note. What kind of game was she playing; didn't he have the upper hand?

"It's a fucking piece of paper," he muttered to himself as he grabbed his keys off the counter. "Man up, Huntz."

* * *

Logan had hoped that the fresh air would take Rory and that damn note from his thoughts – he had a class to teach, he had to look as if he knew what he was talking about – but to no avail. His students dribbled in, eagerly clutching notebooks and lattes, waiting to be enlightened by some of his insight on the world of writing.

It was hard not to mock them – they didn't know him. They knew the image he had crafted for them; to them, he was the guy that looked up to and respected his father, the man who truly believed in great novels and the power of the written word, the guy for whom writing was a true passion. It was a gross lie, but, then again, what did he care?

"Um. Mr. Huntzberger, sir?" a girl's voice squeaked through class.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze from his desk to the class. Twenty-odd students, some twenty pairs of eyes locked to him. A small smile played at his lips as his tipped his head forward, indicating to the girl that she had his fullest attention. "Yes?"

"Well, um. Mr. Huntzberger, sir, it's, um, 8:15 and, um, normally our class starts at eight, um, o'clock…."

Logan's eyes shot to the clock in the corner. Crap, it was, and despite that he had a girl on the brain, he had a class to teach.

"Well, that it is," Logan said with a soft chuckle as he rummaged through some papers on his desk. "Let's get started then. Today we'll be discussing sales techniques and how to give the perfect elevator pitch, which will be helpful when you successful writers will have books ideas to pitch to agents and articles to sell to tough editors…." He flashed his trademark smirk and waited as a polite chuckle flitted through the room. "…but first, role call!"

He quickly made his way through the list, pausing, like always, at Rory's name. No one ever noticed, but he was sure that the day would come and his world built on vague promises and strangely intimate, yet innocent, notes would come crashing down.

"Gilmore, Rory?" Logan waited a beat, but her polite response to his call never came. "Rory Gilmore?" he tried again, as he scanned the room, but it remained quiet as he scribbled an absent next to her name.

"Grant, Melissa?" he continued as normal but his mind was on overdrive. Forget about stupid notes, how had he managed to start the class without noticing she was missing?

* * *

It was the longest hour and forty-five minutes of his life, meetings with Mitchum notwithstanding, and he thanked God it was over. He rambled through the key points, punctuated the lecture with not-so-funny anecdotes and he absolutely hated that he allowed himself to get so frazzled by her absence.

That's what he himself sought out to do, right? Be absent. Rory certainly wasn't pouting he was avoiding her, right? No, she bonded with Finn and made friends with perky Gemma and obnoxious Nick.

Logan tossed his folders into his briefcase and let out a deep, frustrated sigh. "Was a great class Mr. Huntzberger," Gemma noted with a smile as she made her way out of the classroom.

"Stellar, really," Nicolas joined in. "Especially thought the bits on negotiating were useful."

Logan briefly wondered if Nicholas could climb any farther up his ass, but he opted not to make a comment. "Thanks," he said through a half-hearted smile. "It's Influential Authors of the Twentieth Century next week."

"Oh excellent!" Gemma squealed with delight. "See you next week, then." The girl turned on her heel and continued the conversation to Nick. "Better brush up on my authors– wouldn't want Rory stealing my thunder!"

Nicolas laughed and Gemma continued. "It's such a pity she missed out this week, isn't it?"

"Most definitely, Gemmi, but she's sick and you know she wouldn't have cancelled unless she was really ill…"

Whatever anger that flowed through him – games, upper hands, presence or lack there of, - immediately left his body as Nick uttered those words: "she was really ill."

He felt stupid for not thinking about that before and then he felt terrible because Rory was sick. Whatever illusions of a relationship he'd conjured up between them aside, leaving his sick protégé behind was a terrible thing to do as a mentor.

* * *

Three short, but painfully sharp buzzes awakened her from a hazy sleep. Lazily, she patted her hand on the pillow beside her, quite certain she'd left her phone there. The buzzing stopped for a moment, only to start ringing soon thereafter. This time, the buzzes sounded more aggressive, but Rory really couldn't force herself to care – she wasn't in the mood to talk to someone.

All she really wanted was to find some Aspirin and go back to sleep, preferably for an extremely long time. She felt like crap. Her head ached, her stomach burned, her throat was scratchy and her muscles heavy.

Eventually, after another two rounds of buzzing she managed to find her phone (bedside table!) and pressed it against her ear.

"Hello?" she managed to squeak into the phone.

"Ace!"

It took a moment for that voice to register in her foggy brain. "Logan?" He was calling her?! To chit-chat? No! Class, she'd missed a class and that wasn't inline with her new image of being the proper Future Writer

"Ooh. Logan. I'm sorry I missed class. I'm…" she croaked.

"Sick. I know. Don't talk. You sound terrible." Rory had a hard time hearing him – there were a lot of background noises and it didn't help that he spoke quickly and quietly – but he sounded sweet, concerned even.

"Thanks…" she managed a flirty quip in her groggy state.

A small smile played at his lips. "Don't talk." He waited a beat. "I'm coming home."

* * *

Her eyes fluttered open and she was surprised to see a blond man sitting on her couch. Really, she'd have to stop inviting strange men over to her house – she didn't do that anymore, she was a serious Future Writer!

Although, this guy was kind of cute. He had the same tousled hair as Logan, same inviting eyes. All he was missing was a smirk – this hottie had a look of concern on his face.

"You're a cutie." Rory muttered in her half-awakened state, not noticing the smile that cracked on the stranger's face.

"Hey."

Rory coughed violently in surprise. The stranger was Logan. And this was the second time she had inadvertently commented on his looks! Besides, she'd only seen him four times in the four weeks that she'd been here – so what the hell was he doing here now?

"Don't talk," Logan warned gently as he made his way over. "I told you I was coming home."

That was him on the phone? Rory thought she'd been having a fever-induced hallucination. "You are here?" she asked, seeking clarification.

"I am here," he confirmed, "and you are sick. Don't talk." He gently placed his hand on her forehead. "Jesus, Ace. You are burning up!" His eyes ran across her pale face as he brushed a sticky lock of hair out of her face. "Where's Finn?"

"Uh.." She honestly didn't know where Finn was. A date with the coffee girl, perhaps? An appointment at Armani for a new suit? She didn't know and her eyes quickly welled up with tears. Her head hurt too much to think and her throat felt like she had swallowed a spiked stiletto heel.

And now Logan was here. In her room. With that look in his eyes. Even though she had raccoon eyes from un-removed mascara and her usually loose curls had turned into a sticky, sweaty, greasy mess that framed her sweaty, fever-flushed face. And she was wearing her Bananas-in-Pajamas pajamas.

"Hey, hey," he said soothingly as he wrapped her in a hug, "I'm here. No tears, okay?"

Logan waited for her crying to subside, noting that this was the second time he allowed her to stain his good clothes with her tears, before passing her a box of Kleenex.

Rory gave him an apologetic smile, but he simply shrugged. "Now, have you had anything? Juice, tea, Aspirin?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Don't talk. I'm going to get you some tea and Aspirin."

He turned on his heel, to go out to the kitchen, but Rory whimpered.

"I don't want to leave you like this, but I'm going to have to go if you want that Aspirin…" he smirked, but this time, Rory's face wasn't apologetic.

"Coffee."

At that, he threw his head back in laughter. Was this girl for real? "No coffee. Tea and honey is better for your throat!"

"But…"

"No dice, B," he called out after him, "No dice."

He returned moments later with a tray filled with a couple of tea mugs, a bottle of Aspirin, a glass of water and some toast for Rory and for him, a glass of OJ and a bagel. She eyed his bagel, while he shook two tablets in his.

"Bottoms up!" he said as he handed her the medicine and the water. Logan watched her to make sure she took the pills, before discarding his suit jacket, kicking off his shoes and joining her on the bed. She looked so miserable, so sick, that he just wanted to make her feel better.

Rory wasn't allowed to talk, so he switched on the T.V. He channel-surfed, carefully listening to Rory's disproving grunts – Jerry Springer, The Price is Right, Oprah, Full House – before settling on a rerun of America's Next Top Model.

Logan watched a particularly effeminate male strut across a catwalk in the highest heels he had ever seen and proceeded to crack up as model-hopeful failed to master the catwalk march. In the meantime, Rory, who was still groggy rested comfortably on Logan's chest as she fell back into a restless sleep. It was a Top Model marathon and for that he was grateful; otherwise he'd allow himself to get caught up in this moment.

* * *

About an hour later, Rory woke up. Her eyes met his and a lazy smile captured her face.

"Feeling better?" he asked, not noticing that his thumb was tracing circles on her shoulder.

Rory let out a small cough. "Yes, I am."

Logan shot her a semi-disbelieving look and laid his hand on her forehead once again, though this time, he was relieved to find that her fever had subsided, for now at least.

"You had me pretty worried there for a moment, Ace," Logan said, gently taking his hand off her forehead.

Rory was glad that her fever had left her with rosy-cheeks, which did an excellent job at hiding the blush that crept across her face. Why did he make her do that? She tried to shrug off his comment, but he wasn't having it.

"You should have called…" he told her.

Honestly, it crossed her mind. Briefly. It just didn't seem right. Logan had done a remarkable job of setting boundaries, for which, admittedly, she was grateful as it allowed her to focus on her studies. But, in doing so, he had sucked all of the fun out of their budding friendship. And that was something she had come to miss.

"I texted Gemma and Nic to let you know that I'd be absent…" Rory argued back.

Logan let out a heavy sigh. "It's not about the class. I don't care about the class."

"I do!" Rory shot back.

"I know you do," Logan replied with a firm nod. "Why didn't you call me?"

Rory was dangerously close of reaching her level of annoyance. Honestly, who did he think he was? Nursing her back to health like some nurse in shining armor, before dashing off and falling back into note-writing? Since when did _he_ have the upper hand?

"I figured you'd be busy at work," Rory shrugged. "I would have written it on a note…"

"Rory! It's not about the note! I don't care about the notes. I don't care about the class. I don't care about Gemma and Nick. I care about the fact that you didn't call when you needed me. I care about… you!"

Her eyes shot up in happy surprise – he cared! But a million alarm bells started ringing frantically in his head. Treat! Like! Sister! Not! Boyfriend! Danger! Danger!

"Caring" was by no means "loving" but for a boy who wouldn't touch commitment with a ten foot pole, it came pretty damn close. So what if he silently analyzed every note, looked for sappy overused romantic-movie signs, and watched Nick like a hawk…

That behavior belonged to him and, oddly, he liked it like that. He had sort of grown accustomed to the ambiguous, fleeting existence of whatever he and Rory had going on. Some days he could pretend it was something real, but he could just as easily chalk it up to momentary infatuation. Or nothing at all.

Why change? Why let her know he cared? He'd probably end up hurting her anyway, or much worse, himself.

Logan coughed and Rory laughed coyly. "You okay there, Boss?"

"Perfectly fine," he replied and took a sip of his soda in an attempt to regain his composure. "I mean, I care because you are my protégé. Mitchum expects you back in one piece. Healthy and all…"

Rory nodded understandingly at his clumsy explanation. Maybe she didn't care as much as he thought she did and she once again made herself comfortable in her nook.

"I know," she revealed in a breezy tone, "he told me."

"You talk to Mitchum?"

"Talked to him this morning. He checks up on me, you know…" Rory trailed off as she looked up and saw the surprise written on his face. "He doesn't call you?"

"Nah," Logan shrugged it off, but Rory could tell it bothered him, "not unless it involves 'business' or 'meeting.'"

"I'm sorry," Rory with a genuine warmth his her tone, but Logan dismissed it with a wave, so Rory continued. "Mitchum wanted to know if you had covered Authors of the Twentieth Century in your lecture, but I told him you were saving that for next week."

"You read the note," Logan remarked with a smile, and then frowned. "You told him about the notes?"

"No, that's… between us." Rory rolled her eyes, he smirked and the moment passed "I just told him that you weren't giving up enough deets, because you were swamped at the offices."

"What?" Logan was shocked and his tone did little to hide that. Where did she get off thinking she could talk to Mitchum like that? How would it come off –like he'd set her up to do it. Logan was sure he'd get blamed for making sweet Rory Gilmore defy the almighty Mitchum.

"What's with the shocked expression?" Rory asked casually. 'You are my mentor, aren't you? And we can both agree that you've been neglecting that part a little…. "

Logan let out a deep sigh – so maybe his whole 'long-hours-at-the-office' spiel was a little obvious. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," she shrugged, "but you are supposed to be my mentor. Mitchum wants that, so he shouldn't work you so hard!"

"And?" he was curious as to where she was taking this.

"Mitchum said not to worry. He's was going to get in touch with you." Rory waited a beat as she examined Logan's twisted face. "Oh, don't look like that. He's not as bad as he seems!"

"Easy for you to say," Logan laughed but Rory just shrugged and let out a yawn.

* * *

Logan stayed with her the rest of the afternoon as they drank tea – Logan wouldn't allow her coffee – ate soup and watched the ANTM marathon. It wasn't until Finn came barging through the door that they realized what time it was.

"What's all this? A party and I'm not invited?"

"Rory's sick," Logan answered as he poured Rory a fresh cup of tea.

She held up the mug and a tissue to demonstrate her apparent illness. "I'm sick."

Finn exchanged a glance between the pair as he observed the situation. An array of used tissues, empty Coke cans, soup bowls, a half-eaten sleeve of saltines, some tea mugs, an Aspirin bottle, a thermometer, a muted Tyra Banks and fierce, runway stomping models on the TV… It was definitely a scene of the sick. However, the most prominent feature was Logan's arm, protectively draped around Rory's shoulders.

He decided to skip remarking on how 'mentor-like' Logan was behaving and skipped straight to the friendly, sympathetic mode.

"Oh, love! I didn't know! I was expecting a jingle about breakfast – I was out with Cassandra – but I should have known something was up when you didn't call me!" He paused dramatically. "Still you should have called me. I'd come right home to care for you!"

Rory gave him a sweet smile and Logan simply rolled his eyes at his friends antics.

"Well, pack your things, then," Finn said placing his hands on his hips.

"What?"

"You don't think I'm letting you stay here to fend for yourself? Love, you live on take-out, you'll set an enormous pot of coffee and you think curling up with your syllabus is the cure to your illness. No, I won't have it. You are coming home with Logan and me – we'll take care of you."

"You boys can't even take care of a pet rock," Rory replied without missing a beat and Finn shot Logan an accusatory look. The pet rock incident was supposed to stay between them.

"Hey now!" Logan shot back. "I didn't a pretty good job this afternoon. You got some chicken soup and tea, which is much better than coffee and sweet and sour chicken!"

Rory smiled at him before she mock-relented. Actually, she was looking forward to spending some time with 'her' guys. "Alright. But I get to pick the movies."

"Deal." Finn said as he started dumping the contents of her dresser drawer into a suitcase.

Logan and Rory shared a look; it wasn't easy to say no to the Aussie boy. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

He smacked his lips together as he contemplated her question. Was he okay with this? He didn't know. He cared. But he didn't want her to know. He thought about her all the time. Though he didn't want her to know that either. He wanted her around, definitely, and that, he decided she could know.

"Yeah, your sick," he shrugged casually, "It's better to be around people, don't you think? Besides, it'd be nice to see more of you than your coffee cup."

She held back a laugh at his innuendo – it was cute because it was unintentional. A complete unguarded moment and Rory knew they were rare.

He caught her look and his lips pulled into a slightly self-conscious smile. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Gilmore."

* * *

******I was going to make it longer, but then you'd have to wait longer for an update. Hope you enjoyed! **I've always wanted to do a sick-scene and the opportunity presented itself. I hope you get that Rory has had a change of heart (not super focused school girl anymore - she missses Logan) and I'm sure you see that Logan is still struggling. He'll probably struggle a little while longer. A lot of my notes are from a "The Nanny" kick I had a while back and you know how it takes Mr. Sheffield 5 seasons to commit... so yeah. But there won't be any "things" taken back. Once they say it - they'll mean it. And that's a promise from me to you :-) Oh, and please review!! 


	15. Round Fifteen: And In Health

**I've been in this weird kind of a funk lately. It's been affecting my writing so I h****ope this one is up to par! **

**Standard disclaimers apply **

* * *

It was 6:30 am on a Tuesday morning. Like every morning, Logan was standing at the kitchen counter, scanning the morning edition of the London Times, nursing a cup of tea and eating a piece of wheat toast. He'd have to leave by 7:00 to swing by the office for a meeting with his secretary, before heading to the university to teach his weekly seminar for the Future Writers. He had always loved this little half hour of tranquility before his day truly started, but he especially loved them now.

From the far side of the house, he heard a distinct buzzing followed directly loud cursing – he always knew she had a large vocabulary and a smirk flashed across Logan's face as he reached over and poured a cup of coffee in a big mug. Not a minute later, Rory shuffled into the kitchen, looking completely disheveled in an oversized Oxford t-shirt (his – since all of her PJs has been infested with cold-germs) and a pair of well-worn grey sweatpants. Her hair was tied up in a messy, lopsided bun and she hadn't removed all of her eye-makeup last night, so her eyes were rimmed with light black smudges.

All Logan did to acknowledge her presence was to hold out the mug of hot delicious coffee. He knew better than to speak to her considering she was still in her pre-caffeine, groggy morning state. After she took a few big sips, he spoke. "You know, one morning I'll get you to drink tea. Maybe even herbal…"

Rory took another sip – the last one – and let our a satisfied sigh, before turning her focus to him. "This is not an herbal tea morning, Logan." She held out her mug for a refill. "This is a coffee morning!"

"When is it not a coffee morning?" he shot back playfully as he dutifully refilled the cup.

"Last week."

He shot her a slightly puzzled look. "Last week?"

"Yes," Rory said bobbing her head wildly. "I was sick. You put me on coffee restriction!"

That's right - how could he have forgotten? It'd only been a week since she'd moved downstairs, though it seemed like much longer, like she'd never not been here, sharing the breakfast counter with him.

Logan looked at her, a smile tugging at his lips. "I should have kept you on restriction." Rory playfully rolled her eyes at him, before stepping away from him to make some breakfast. He watched with a smirk plastered on his face as she expertly made her way around the kitchen. Two slices of bread from the breadbox straight into the toaster, a plate from the cupboard on the left, utensils from the drawer on the right. He couldn't suppress his laughter as she grabbed a big jar of Nutella off the shelf.

"What?" she asked innocently and begun spreading the creamy hazelnut-chocolate spread on her toast.

"It's herbal tea and granola bars from here on out, Ace!" he informed her in a mock stern tone, "Nutella for breakfast?!"

Teasingly, she ran her finger over the flat side knife to scrape off any excess chocolate goo and popped it in her mouth, smiling coyly as it elicted a digusted wince from him. "It's a breakfast spread, Logan! People eat this for breakfast – you know the amount of Nutella produced in one day could provide every person in San Diego with one jar!"

"That as it may be," he humored her breifly, before delivering the final blow. "It's still disgusting!"

A soft chuckle escaped her and she cocked her head to the side. "Then why do you have the family-sized jar in your cupboard?" she asked sweetly.

"It's for Finn," Logan shrugged, which brought Rory more laughter. "That boy is such a convenient excuse!"

"It's true!" he defended adamantly, "I won't eat that shit – you might as well spread frosting on your toast!"

Rory dropped the piece of toast and looked at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. "Now that's an idea!"

Logan knew he couldn't win this one, so he just shook his head, feigning his disappointment. "Just eat an apple or something, okay? You were just sick…"

"I had a cold."

"Yeah, and you can't afford to get scurvy," he told her firmly, though his tone and eyes were laced with concern. Feeling a little self-conscious at his lingering gaze, she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Whatever you say, James Lind."

"Who?"

"You've never heard of a "A Treatise of the Scurvy"? she asked, though his blank look caused her to continue. "He lead the first reported controlled clinical trial. Lind's results made the British Royal Navy provide sailors with a daily ration of lime or lemon juice to keep them healthy. That's why British sailors are called limeys…"

He gave her an impressed look as she trailed off, looking at him as if everyone on the planet should know about Lind and how British sailors got weird nicknames. "Jesus, Ace," he finally muttered and he cracked a soft, friendly smile.

Rory tried to shrug off her self-consciousness, but couldn't. "Ah," she waved, "I just retain a lot of information…"

"Apparently," Logan said, before taking a sip of his tea and a comfortable silence filled the room. This was how most of his morning now went. The light, casual banter. The looks and the smiles and the hair-behind-ear-tucking. He liked it and he knew that she enjoyed it, too, their little breakfast bonding between mentor and protégé.

"It's 7:00…" Rory said, cutting through his thoughts.

"It is?"

"Yep," she said and popped the last bit of chocolaty toast in her mouth.

"Ah, shit..." Logan mumbled. "Running behind." He quickly tossed his paper in his briefcase and hurried to put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.

"I'll take care of those," Rory told him, taking the mug and plate from him.

"Thanks, Ace." Her eyes moved from his grateful smile to his Hugo Boss suit-jacket. With his one hand, he quickly pushed the single button through the hole and with his other hand he snapped closed his briefcase. "I'll see you tonight – I'll make Lemon Chicken for dinner?"

An involuntary smile appeared on Rory's face as she watched him put on his tan trench coat. "You're making me a scurvy repellent, Hugo?"

Logan's head dropped in laughter, before he turned to look at her. "Yeah."

"That sounds good," Rory nodded – inwardly licking her lips at another delicious home-cooked dinner. "And I'll see you much sooner than tonight. Class starts in a hour!"

"Right." The smile with which he uttered those words looked sincere to her; only he knew it was one riddled with nerves.

* * *

By 7:50 Logan was completely settled in his classroom. Luckily, nothing major was going on at the office so he had ample time to set up his computer and put up the PowerPoint slides for this week's lecture. He figured that he had better make stopping by the office part of his Tuesday morning ritual – he and Rory couldn't afford being caught arriving together.

"Good morning, Mr. Huntzberger," six of his students greeted him in flirtatious stereo. He looked up and observed the gaggle of female students. Sure, they were here today with their notebooks and lattes and plaid skirts and navy blue cardigans, some even wearing dark-rimmed square glasses, though Logan knew that these were secretly slutty girls, the ones who would miss a deadline and suggestively email him wondering just how they could make it up…

"Morning ladies," he said flatly. "Take a seat."

During the next ten minutes, the rest of the students entered and Logan had classified them all. The boy who had won his place based on scholarship, the middle-class girl so desperately trying to be a socialite, the girl who was an outsider and the loner boy – who'd make a lovely hermit-couple one day -, the girl who wasn't all too talented, but pressured by her parents to become a writer, the soft-spoken guy who could be the next big writing talent… The only clique that was absent was Rory (the girl all the guys wanted and who all the girls wanted to be), Nicolas (a pompous ass) and Gemma (the naïve diamond in the rough).

Logan cast a glance a the clock; it was just creeping past eight and he had a busy lecture today. He rolled his eyes as he figured Rory had probably stopped off for a coffee before class.

"Good morning, everyone. Let's get started!" Logan said and the students put away their telephones and newspapers. Once he had everyone's attention he started again. "Today we'll be discussing Authors of the Twentieth Century. Everyone from Steven Crane to Fitzgerald and from Hemmingway to J.D. Salinger, but first, role call!"

Logan got up from his chair to close the door and spotted a bouncy head of blond curls running down the hallway, followed by Nicholas and Rory leisurely walking behind.

"Morning Mr. Huntzberger," Gemma said quickly, "So sorry I'm late – had a wee hair drying emergency."

He gave the girl a confused look and motioned for her to take a seat. It wasn't so much that this trio was showing up late, it was the Rory and Nick were walking together and made no effort to hurry up.

"Mr. Braden, Miss Gilmore," Logan called down the hallway. "Class started five minutes ago!"

Nicholas stepped it up and Rory quickly followed suit. "I'm sorry, Mr. Huntzberger," he said, his slimy tone laced with insincerity. "First Gemma had a hair drying emergency and then, Rory here," Logan eyes dropped to Nick's hand as he placed it on Rory's shoulder, "needed to make a pit-stop to buy fruit."

"To buy fruit?" Logan asked skeptically, running his eyes from Rory to Nick and back to Rory.

"Apples," she clarified with a sweet smile, as she produced a small bag of apples from her Birkin tote. Logan raised his eyebrows in confusion – Rory was mocking him on a multitude of levels. First, for his healthy eating habits, second for suggesting those eating habits to her and, most importantly, his class. Why did she think that she should be allowed to show up late? With Nicholas to boot?

"But we have…" Logan started off, but caught himself quickly. There were a bunch of apples on the counter in the fruit basket at home. Why hadn't she just taken apples from there? A question for a later time. He cleared his throat. "We have to start class on time." He shot Rory a knowing look. "Next time, fight scurvy and bad hair days after class, alright?"

"Right," Nick laughed a little unsurely at Logan's quip and headed for his seat.

"I'm sorry, too," Rory whispered, shooting him an apologetic smile. He just shook his head, finding her smile too cute to be mad and hating the fact that her smile had that power over him. His hand went to the small of her back, gently pushing her into the classroom as he closed the door behind them with his other. "Just take a seat," he smirked slightly at her, before turning his attention to the rest of the class room.

"Okay, ladies and gentlemen. Please excuse our late start this morning, let's get right into it. Great Authors of the 20th century. The last century produced some great literary minds from all over the world. This first lecture will tackle the great American writers whom have written our modern classics: Hemmingway, J.D. Salinger, Sylvia Plath, Heller, Fitzgerald….the list goes on and on. However, to understand the process literature went through, we'll have to go back to 1884 to what many call one of, "The Great American Novels."" Logan looked at his bright-eyed students and cracked a smile. "Any guesses as to what it is?"

Immediately, Rory's hand shot up, followed by Gemma's and Nick's and a few others. "Ah, Mr. Braden?" he asked, jutting out his chin towards Nick.

"I think it's Huckleberry Finn?"

Logan crossed his arms over his chest and locked eyes with the boy. "You think or you know?"

The class fell silent as they waited for Nick's answer. It didn't come as his eyes nervously darted around the room searching for some other student to fall under the pressure of Mr. Huntzberger's glare, but Logan didn't waver. After a few minutes of silence, Logan cleared his throat and spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, confidence is key. One must always carry him or herself as if he or she knows the answer and is in control. Be aware that this is not arrogance, rather confidence and an extremely important attitude to carry in business and, more general, in life. Remember that."

A few of the secretly-slutty crew snickered at how Logan put Nick in place, before moving on with the question. "Miss Warrington?"

"Nick thought right, sir," her thick accent cut through the class, "it's Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain."

Logan nodded in agreement. "Twain was actually a pen name. Extra points to those who know his real name."

His eyes scanned the room, but this time the only hand that shot up was Rory's – he wasn't surprised. "Miss Gilmore?"

"Samuel Langhorne Clemens," Rory answered confidently, "Mark Twain wasn't his only pen name – he used several – that's why it's so hard to create a complete collection of his works."

"Do not think that this makes up for being tardy, Miss Gilmore," Logan said sternly, though he softened his tone a little when he saw the blush creep over her features, " but that is more than the right answer."

The class went on to discuss Twain's personal life and debated his influence in helping to create and distinctive American literature based typical American themes and languages. Normally, covering the American greats bored Logan to tears, but seeing how passionate Rory was about this topic enthused him.

More than ever, he noticed just how competitive and driven she was. Here, in some London classroom it didn't matter what her last name was or how many dollars she had in her bank account or what kind of pulp the gossip mill was turning out. Here, she was allowed to be that brainy girl who knew all the answers, the girl who formulated her opinions thoughtfully and with caution, yet confidently.

Before he knew it, it was 10:00 and the class came to a close. All Logan really wanted was to talk to her, let her know that he wasn't really that mad at her about showing up late, though he was curious about the apples.

But he couldn't, it'd be too suspicious. Or he'd have to call Nick and Gemma up to his desk as well and he didn't have the desire to talk to those two.

So, instead Logan simply started packing up his belongings as his students filed out of the class room, away to their luncheon with HPG's CFO. Rory had mentioned something about that the other day. Her childlike enthusiasm was endearing and Logan did not want to spoil it for her, so he kept his opinions about the CFO to himself. Logan left the class room with a big smile plastered on his face and a mental note to be prepared for a rant during dinner tonight.

* * *

Rory was sitting at the breakfast bar, busily tapping away at her laptop keyboard when Logan entered the house much later that afternoon.

"If you type any faster, smoke will come out of your fingers," Logan commented dryly as he made his way around the bar, throwing off his jacket and loosening his tie in the process. Rory didn't look up, she was too caught up in whatever she was doing. Logan chuckled to himself and carried on fixing himself his post-workday drink.

"You want some?" he asked, pointing the rum bottle in Rory's direction.

"Of that fire water?" she replied absentmindedly, which was met with a rumble of laughter from Logan. This caught her attention and she finally looked up. "Oh my god, Logan! When did you get home?"

"A few minutes ago… good to know that you have a fine-tuned radar for rum…" Logan smirked at her, "you sure you don't want to give it a try? Seems your sub-conscious wants you to..."

Rory rolled her eyes at his comment. "No, thank-you. But I do think it's time for a coffee break…" Logan watched as she hopped off the barstool and make her way into the kitchen.

"So, what's that you were working on?" he asked as Rory started scooping grounds into the coffee machine.

"Oh," she gesticulated vaguely, "just the essay on the influential authors…"

"That essay isn't due for another 3 weeks!"

She shrugged, "I just wanted to get a head start…"

Logan shook his head in slight disbelief. "Just in case you show up late for the final seminar?"

"Very funny," Rory said, trying to sound unaffected, though she turned her head away slightly, giving away her embarrassment.

"What happened, Ace?" Logan asked, "You were up and caffeinated when I left!"

"I know," she sighed. "Gemma and Nick showed up late at the coffee place since Gemma's hair got caught in her hairdryer and then I mentioned something about needing an apple muffin…"

A tiny laugh passed over Logan's lips. "Apple muffins aren't a health food, Ace."

"That's what Nick said…" Rory replied, waving her hand so as to dismiss Logan's comment. She didn't notice how Logan's nose wrinkled at the mention of Nick's name as she animatedly carried on telling her story, "… so we just had to stop and get some apples…"

"But we have apples in the fruit bowl," Logan said with a gesture toward the big silver bowl that graced the corner of the breakfast nook.

"Those are…" Rory trailed off as Logan walked over and took an apple from the bowl. She watched as he buffed it u on his shirt, before sinking his teeth into the crisp red-greenish skin and taking a big, juicy bite. "…not plastic," she finished her thought in a bemused tone. "Who would have thunk?"

"These are Cox's Orange Pippin apples," Logan remarked as he held out the half-eaten apple and observed it. "It's England's most famous apple variety, considered to be the finest tasting dessert apple." Shooting her a cocky grin, he brought the apple back to his mouth and took another bite.

It was obvious Logan was mocking her encyclopedic skills and she couldn't deny that it irked her that she somehow missed out on world-famous British apples. He was blatantly mocking her! Shrugging it off, she turned away from him and fixed her coffee as he continued to munch away at that damn apple. It was gone by the time Rory switched off the coffee pot and moved away from the counter.

Logan snorted as soon as he noticed the annoyed look on her face. "Some one is quiet", he said trying to sound serious, but the laughter was clear in his tone.

"Not much to say" Rory shrugged, stirring her coffee, "It's clear I'm not an apple-expert."

At this, Logan threw his head back in genuine laughter, which caused Rory's eyebrows to raise – a clear sign that she was not amused. "Oh, Ace, I'm not laughing at you – I'm laughing with you."

"I'm not laughing," Rory shot back immediately, but she her lips couldn't help pulling into a relenting smile. "This is why I don't eat fruits, you know…can never tell if the damn this is real or fake, or edible. At least with pizza rolls and Twinkies you know its chemically conducted and edible even after a nuclear war…"

"Yeah, that's a comforting image. You, a bunch of cockroaches and a box of Twinkies."

Rory pulled her shoulders up into a shrug and Logan shook his head. "Forget essays, we've got to develop your healthy eating habits."

"Is that part of your mentoring duties?" she asked, slightly cocking her head to the side.

"I'm the total package, Ace," Logan shot back with a grin.

Boy, was he ever. Rory bit her bottom lip slightly, too caught off guard to reply to his comment. He didn't seem to notice the impact his words had on her (or maybe he ignored them?) her mind was too muddled to tell as he rambled on about the finer points of making lemon chicken. Before she knew it, she was slicing and dicing right next to him in the kitchen, like an old pro.

* * *

**Tension. Were you suprised? Mitchum might make an appearance next chapter and maybe Finn too! I promise I won't wait 'till March to update again (ps: this story will be a year old in March! Craziness!!) **


	16. Round Sixteen: Giving In

**If this felt like it took forever and a day to update, it's because it took forever and a day to write. **

"This looks great," Rory said eyeing the lemon chicken, roasted vegetables and rice Logan had so expertly arranged on her dinner plate.

"I'll take credit for the style, but I can't take it all for the cooking," Logan replied with a smirk as he topped up her wine glass.

"This is so," she agreed, "after all, I did cook the rice."

Figuring it to be in his best interest to remain quiet, Logan simply smiled at her. Rory was about to dig in, but she stopped herself, as she caught his somewhat humoring smile.

"What?!" she asked with a raised eyebrow, "I did make the rice."

"With some help…" Logan countered lightly, though fully aware he was intentionally pushing her buttons.

"Unless your name is Uncle Ben I don't know what you are talking about."

"Let's recap," he said, folding his hands together, "who told you to read the instructions on the back of the box?"

"I would've figured it out…" she tried, but Logan shot her an unconvinced look, to which she relented. "Okay, so I would've called China Express and had it delivered. Same dif." Rory tried to wave the issue away, but Logan wasn't having it. The unconvinced looked remained fixed on his face and he gently tipped his head to the side.

"Alright, okay! You don't have to look at me like that! Jeez. You and Ben know best, China Express sucks. I learned my lesson. Please, can we eat? This food's getting cold and I'm starving!"

The smile he had been holding back finally flashed over his face and he raised his tumbler of rummy coke to her. "To us chefs."

Grinning, Rory raised her glass. "Here, here."

* * *

"So, apart from writing about 20th century authors and learning how to cook rice – which is perfect by the way – what else did your Tuesday bring you?"

Rory rolled her eyes at his rice comment, before shaking her head. "Nothing but disappointment."

"Disappointment?" Logan questioned, shooting her a concerned look.

"That CFO luncheon was not good."

"Ah, Troy Gibson," Logan nodded understandingly.

"More like Troll Glibson…" Rory muttered, before she caught herself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did," Logan told her, amusement peaking through his tone, "and no need to apologize. I know it's true and there are a worse things to call Glibson – Gibson." Logan chuckled. "See what you've done?"

"Sorry."

"Nah, don't worry about it. Glibson has a nice ring to it. So, tell me, what did he do?" he asked with a kind smile.

"It's not so much what he did, just how…," Rory looked up at Logan, briefly wondering if he really cared to hear about her complaints, but he nodded encouragingly and she continued. "I mean, we are For the Future Writers so we are new to the business and he's talking to us as if we're old pros and then mocking the people who have questions..."

"Did you have questions?" he interjected, "Because I'll answer them…"

"No," she smiled, waving his suggestion away, "I know my way around financial cocktail conversation, but Nick fumbled a couple of times…"

"He did?" Maybe his tone gave away how eager Logan was to hear about that boy's misfortune, but Rory didn't notice. "Ah, it wasn't so much the financial chatter as it was the luncheon… you and I were raised in that type of environment."

That was true; however, Nicholas Braden wasn't exactly born into poverty either. "Nick went to boarding school and he looks the part. He ought to be able to handle a luncheon."

Rory took a sip of her wine and she contemplated Logan's comment. "You know as well as I that there are boarding schools and boarding schools. St. Michaels isn't Eton. Besides, he wears last year's Ralph Lauren. Not this year's Hugo Boss."

Logan's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "Hugo Boss, huh?" With that grin, and those eyes fixed on her, Rory could feel the blush threatening to flush across her cheeks, but she managed to roll her eyes, which prompted him to continue. "Well, B, I've got to say, you are quite the socialite. My mother would be proud."

She scoffed at his comment – Shira was proud of her regardless. "Don't act like you don't know it's true, Logan. In this world, to Troll Glibson, there is a difference between this year's Boss and lasts year's Lauren. It matters!"

"It does," Logan agreed with a nod. "I'm not saying it doesn't, Ace. But it matters to you, too."

Rory shot him an incredulous look. "No it doesn't," she told him. "I'm not like that. I like Nick."

"That as it may be, you just looked absolutely disgusted when you told me his wardrobe was so last year. And I know that look wasn't because of the food. These things matter to you, Ace."

"But…" she tried to defend herself, but Logan wasn't hearing it. "Save it. It matters to me to and I like that it matters to you."

This was news to her. "You do?" she asked softly as she gently cocked her head to the side.

"Absolutely," he nodded seriously, but quickly changed to a more playful response, "I can't have you hanging around these low-life, last-year wearing Ralph Lauren types. They might distract you with their upper-middleclass ways."

That look – the one where his eyes looked straight in to her heart and his smile blinded her – he was giving caused her mouth to go dry and made it hard for her to breath. It was…distracting. She took a sip of water to quench her sudden thirst and found herself able to talk again.

"From the program?"

It wasn't so much the question as the way her lips pulled into a small smile as she spoke that caused him to briefly lose focus. Why did every conversation have to have this sultry, flirtatious undertone?

Or was it just him?

"Yes, you shouldn't be distracted from the program. I am your mentor, after all." He added that last part as a reminder for himself.

"Right. Mentor." Rory nodded. Huh. Maybe she needed a reminder, too? "So, what's for dessert?"

"Strawberry sundaes?" Logan suggested but she scrunched up her nose and pouted slightly so Logan gave in. "Alright. Hot fudge," he smiled as he grabbed her plate to clear. "I'm going to kick myself for asking, but where is Finn tonight?"

"He's with Sabina – a chocolate haired Swedish girl," Rory told him, taking her empty wine glass and the placemats as she followed Logan into the kitchen.

"A brunette, huh?" Logan shook his head in disbelief. "Why does he even try?"

"Maybe he's broadening his horizons…."

"Maybe he's ran out of redheads."

"Bite your tongue," Rory laughed. "There is one red head that's perfect for him. It's the girl who works at the coffee house…"

"I know," Logan nodded. "But he won't go after her."

"Why not?"

"Young Finnegan believes that history is destined to repeat itself. Quite cynical for such an optimistic guy, but there it is…" Logan sighed as he loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.

Rory remained quiet, not having the heart to admit that she shared Finn's beliefs. And she didn't really think it was cynical. She briefly wondered if Logan had ever allowed someone in so close that he'd lost the sense to breathe, and if someone had ever smashed his heart to smithereens, so much so that he could never entirely put it back together. But then Rory realized that Logan wasn't that type. He was the untouchable, cocky ladies man, a role he had given himself for the sole purpose of avoiding heartache.

She had to commend him, even though it wasn't the Dr. Phil approved way to deal with all things love. To her, it was smart and she was jealous because she couldn't be detached in love. It was all or nothing, all the time. Finn was the same way and both of their hearts had been crushed because of that. Even though they'd only mentioned this briefly during Rory's first day in London, it was what cemented her friendship with Finn.

"Hey, why don't you take these into the living room?" Logan asked, dragging her from that deep and twisty place her thoughts on love and life lived. He handed her a tray with two bowls of ice cream and all the ingredients for sundaes, "I'll just finish up loading the dishwasher…?"

"But it's your turn to pick the movie…" Rory said, taking the tray from him.

* * *

About halfway through Gran Torino Logan's blackberry practically vibrated off the coffee table.

"Jesus, Joseph and Mary! Who the fuck is calling me now?"

"Relax Walt Kowalski," Rory chuckled and paused the movie, before reaching over and handing Logan his phone. "I'm sure it's just Finn."

Logan glanced down at the display and shook his head. "No. It's Mitchum." He was about to ignore the call but Rory told him he had to pick up. He groaned and shot her a weighted look, but she didn't give in and so, he had to pick up.

"Hey, Dad. What's up?" He rolled his eyes at the satisfied smirk of Rory's face. "I don't know, Dad. I don't have my schedule in front of me." He looked at Rory while he moved his fingers and thumb up and down, creating a little mouth with his hand. She chuckled, though Logan's conversation suddenly became serious.

"I understand," he bit into the phone, "but I've got business to attend to as well – I believe you assigned it to me and under no circumstances…ah, your rules. I see." His jaw tightened as his tone became more and more strained. "Tonight? Morning meetings? But… no buts. Alright. I'll be there. Don't worry. Bye."

Logan angrily pounded the disconnect key on his phone and got up from the couch. "No buts, only assholes," he muttered and Rory watched as the phone left his hand and hit the coffee table with a thud.

"I don't understand how Mitchum can be so nice to me and so mean to you," Rory said in a small voice.

"Because the next Pulitzer will not come from my pen, neither will I be the editor-in-chief of some pretentious Huntzberger publication nor will I head some great strategic business deal because I don't give a fuck about this stupid business. Of course, if Mitchum Huntzberger had any paternal instinct at all, he wouldn't give a damn and he'd let me go, without strings and without holding my trust over my head."

"And you can't just go, because your trust is very important to you." Her tone was void of sarcasm or disapproval; she was simply stating the facts.

Aggravated, he pushed his hand through his hair shouted at her. "Yes!" Logan instantly felt bad for yelling, but her sympathetic look let him know that it was okay for him to be mad. That she understood and that she was here. Right in front of him, on the couch, waiting for him to get this out of his system. After he cursed Mitchum a few times, his gaze met hers and a brief silence fell over the apartment as Logan came down from his rage. He was still to mad to resume his place on the couch, though.

"I'm sorry for yelling" he sighed eventually. "It's just…"

"Mitchum," Rory shrugged, waving his apologies away. "If you can't cause a scene at home, where can you?"

A small smile played at Logan's lips as Rory continued. "What's Mitchum want you to do?"

"He scheduled a breakfast meeting in Glasgow. Booked a 9pm jet and a room for the night for me and he called to let me know that he's attending…."

"Oh, well, that's not too bad," Rory said, thinking that Mitchum's phone call was to inform him of something far worse, but in Logan's world this was pretty bad.

"You say that because you only know warm-and-fuzzy Mitchum. My Mitchum never makes the trek across the Atlantic unless something serious is up. The last time he was here was on my first board meeting – the only board meeting the overhead slides didn't work by the way, so you can imagine what kind of impression that made."

"Ouch," she said. "So, you don't know what kind of meeting?"

Sighing, Logan shook his head. "Not a clue."

"But Mitchum's coming?"

"Mitchum's coming."

"And it's in Glasgow?"

"Yep."

"Maybe he's thinking about acquiring some Scottish paper, The Herald perhaps, or run a Scottish test group, to see if it's even worth considering to buy?" Rory suggested and Logan finally found his way back to the couch. "Yeah, maybe. Seems rational," he said, shooting her a grateful look.

"Hey, I'm not all Birkin bags and next season's fashion!" Rory laughed.

"I know that, B," he said sincerely. And _that_ look appeared on his face. Rory averted her eyes, but couldn't help responding to his comment. "I know you know."

Logan's lips pulled into a coy smile. "I guess we'll just have to postpone movie night?"

"Yeah. No problem. Grey's Anatomy is on anyway."

"Oh well. Say no more," Logan laughed as he stood up. Rory was ready with remote in had to get lost in the world of dreamy doctors and dark and twisty characters whose love lives where way more complicated that hers, but she couldn't help her gaze from going to his.

"Say goodbye before you go."

* * *

She was sprawled out on the couch when he returned to the living room a short while later. Gaze fixed on the television screen, mug of coffee in hand, hair curly and loose around her shoulders, fuzzy socks covering her feet. She looked at home and he liked it.

"Ace?"

Rory looked up and shot him a dazzling smile. "You look dapper," she said before she spotted the two suitcases next to him. "And well-packed for one night away. Are you Bond, James Bond?"

Logan threw his head back in laughter. "No, it's armor. Mitchum armor."

"So, you've got a bullet-proof vest under that Armani shirt? And, um, bazookas?" she asked, pointing at the luggage.

"May his death be a particularly unpleasant and humiliating one."

"Logan!" Rory scolded and got up from the couch.

"Oh Ace, no bullet-proof vests and no bazookas," Logan laughed, "It's just some extra clothes just in case Mitchum decides that one day isn't enough."

"You mean you might be gone for more than one day?"

Logan raised his shoulders into a shrug. "It wouldn't surprise me – it's classic Mitchum."

"Oh." Was that disappointment in her tone?

"I know," Logan said, "It kind of sucks." There was definite disappointment in his.

A small nod from her confirmed the sentiment. "But you'll be with Finn, unless he hits it off with that Swedish girl."

"Doubt it."

"Me too."

"Hey listen…" A sudden seriousness laced Logan's tone. "If you don't want to be alone, I'll call Finn. Or you can go back to your place, if you are more comfortable there…"

"No, I'm good here," Rory said, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "All my stuff is here, you know. And the couch turns out to be pretty comfortable…."

"Good," Logan smiled. "So I'll see you when I get back?"

"Absolutely."

"Good," he said again before swinging one of his bags over his shoulder and taking his roller bag by hand, signaling that it was time for him to go. Together they made their way down the hallway and to the elevator. Logan pressed the button and as they waited, Rory realized that there really wasn't anything to say, but she couldn't not say anything.

"Say hi to Mitchum for me."

Logan turned to her, suddenly finding himself extremely close to her. For a moment Rory thought he was going to cup her chin and put his lips to hers, but he didn't.

"Will do, Ace," he smirked, leaving her with a coy smile as he stepped into the elevator. "Will do."

* * *

It was dark and late by the time the tiny jet touched down on a private airstrip just outside of Glasgow. Logan saw thick, juicy raindrops run down the windows but he knew he wouldn't have to take his umbrella out of briefcase as Mitchum had arranged car-service to pick him up and take him to his hotel. To the outside world it was a kind, thoughtful gesture, though Logan knew it wasn't about that. To him, it was a signal that his father still didn't trust his word.

He slipped in to the car and as it drove off into the night, he released a heavy sigh and resigned to his fate in which relenting was key. He gave in to his father's ludicrous demands, he gave in to heading the London Publications, he gave in to not living the life he never had the chance to design for himself.

There weren't enough words in the world for Logan to describe his discontentment. Why, why, why had Mitchum decided to call this stupid meeting, and for a Wednesday morning no less? Didn't Mitchum realize he had things to do on Wednesday mornings, like pour coffee for his caffeine deprived prodigy-protégé? And this – Logan couldn't help but sarcastically point out– was a job designated to him by the big man himself. Not that he otherwise enjoyed tasks Mitchum threw at him, and honestly, he still wasn't sure what to make of his current situation. All he knew was that he'd rather be at home, watching a movie with Rory than in this car in Scotland.

Logan felt the car slow to a stop and his car door opened not a moment later. He acknowledged the bellhop with an uncomfortable smile, which stayed on his face until he stepped out of the elevator on the top story – of course Mitchum would arrange the penthouse suite for him. Who wouldn't want a six bedroom suite for a one night's stay?

"_It matters."_

Her voice suddenly cut through his thoughts and a wry smile captured his face. It was true. If his Dad had put him up in a single room, one with a simple bed and an pressed-wood desk, he'd be perturbed and quite frankly, a little disgusted. Smirking, he retrieved his cell from his pocket.

"_I've arrived in Glasgow. Sipping my rum-and-coke from my penthouse couch. Hope Finn came home. See you tomorrow if all goes well." _

Logan kept his eyes on his cell, willing it to buzz with her reply. Luckily, before he could rationalize this sudden bout of OCD to himself, his cell vibrated with three short buzzes.

"_The penthouse, huh? Wouldn't expect anything less from Mitchum. Finn did come home. All I can say is no brunettes for a while. He's making cosmos as we speak…."_

He didn't hesitate as he quickly typed his reply.

"_Ah crap. I'm sorry you get depressed Finn. Sounds like it's going to be a long night. Call me if he gets too drunk – and don't get too drunk yourself – you've got luncheons and seminars tomorrow!" _

And luckily, Rory was keen to text back quickly.

"_Oh, way to play the mentor card, mister! And when have you ever seen me drunk? Finn and I will be fine, but he requested that I stop texting seeing as it takes the focus off him and his sad love life. You never told me he was such a drama queen!" _

A smile cracked on his face as he read her reply. Finn was indeed a drama queen and Logan couldn't help but feel a little bummed at how his friend was monopolizing all of Rory's time tonight. First Mitchum called him away from home, from routine, and now he couldn't even engage in a little text-conversation with Rory!

He took a sip of his rum-and-coke as he mulled over that last thought. Since when had routine become more important than adventurous and spontaneous? Since when was he content with just talking to a girl? Of course, Rory wasn't just any girl. She was special in that treat-like-a-sister-protégé type way. Whatever that meant. And before his thoughts went there, he flipped on the TV and let 'Friends' re-runs drown out the thoughts that swirled around in his mind.

* * *

Wednesday morning came far too early, although, Logan had to admit that any day that contained a meeting with Mitchum came too early. The conference room turned out to be located at his hotel. It was convenient, though Logan did not view it that way. He saw it as another chance Mitchum took to belittle him, another strike against any faith his Dad had in him. There were a handful of people attending this meeting, but these people were allowed to sleep at other hotels and make their way to the board room in their own time. Logan was the only one to receive a wake-up call so he'd be on time to the meeting that was going to take place six stories below him.

The upshot to this whole ordeal was that he was the first one to the boardroom and had the advantage of taking his pick from the breakfast spread. By the time Mitchum – who was second to arrive – Logan was on his second glass of orange juice and he'd finished a fruit cocktail and a blueberry muffin.

"The coffee's fresh, you know," Mitchum said by way of greeting as he poured himself a cup.

Logan shook his head slightly; already tired of this meeting. "Thanks, but I don't drink the stuff."

Mitchum mumbled something in reply and before Logan had the chance to pick a fight with him Troy Gibson entered in all his stuck-uppity glory.

"Oh good, there's coffee!" he said as he reached for the pot. "Ceramic," he noted as he filled his generic white cup to the brim. "How quaint."

Gibson hadn't been in the room for two seconds and Logan was seething. It was a fucking hotel coffee cup!

"There's enough for seconds or thirds, Troy, " Mitchum remarked dryly, "Logan isn't much of a coffee drinker."

"Really?" Troy asked, grabbing a chocolate croissant from the tray. "I love the stuff."

Logan managed to crack a smile. "Then you should really try Kopi Luwak. Extremely exclusive, runs up to six hundred dollars a pound. Only a handful of restaurants serve it by the cup, which can cost upwards of a hundred dollars."

"Have you heard about this coffee?" Troy asked Mitchum, but he was too caught up in his papers to answer, so Troy focused back on Logan. "What makes it exclusive?"

"This coffee is made from the beans of coffee berries. In Asia, there are these cat-like creatures who eat these berries and in their stomach the beans absorb these enzymes and once the berries pass, they are collected, washed, sun-dried and roasted, providing you with an aromatic, syrupy coffee with much less bitterness than your usual brew."

"Logan, it is far too early for your jokes," Mitchum warned but Gibson was intrigued.

"You aren't pulling my leg, are you son?" he asked and Logan smirked. He was a little skeptical the first time he heard it, but it was Rory who informed him about the cat-poo coffee. Their discussion had been about the most-expensive versions of their favorite drinks. Exclusive brands of his rum could cost about two thousand dollars, outrageous, compared to her six hundred for a pound of coffee, Logan had to agree.

"I wouldn't dare, Glib-," he caught himself just in time, "_Gib_son. I'll admit I had a hard time believing it, but one of my students told me."

Troy nodded deeply, fully convinced that Logan was telling the truth. "Smart group, this year. I had the pleasure of meeting them yesterday, Mitchum."

Not amused, Mitchum looked up from his papers. "CFO luncheon, if I'm not mistaken?"

"You are correct. Always a marvel how such a busy man such as your father keeps track of everything…" Logan rolled his eyes at Gibsons obvious sucking-up. "...but you've done an excellent job of assembling the group this year. You've certainly met the less-fortunate quota, but it's always a giggle to see them struggle with escargot utensils."

"Well, I do that for your pleasure," Mitchum said with the slightest hint of sarcasm in his tone. And Logan – who had so much rage towards Mitchum– had to suppress the laughter that threatened to escape him. It was obvious to him that his father quite possibly hated Glibson more than he did!

The offender himself babbled on obliviously, though. "However, there really isn't much competition. It's clear the win is for that Gilmore girl. Related to…"

"Not to my knowledge, no" Mitchum interjected coolly. "But it is always nice to hear students are thriving. That's why I started the program all those years ago." He reached for his ceramic coffee mug and downed the last sip effectively ending the conversation.

By now, the room had filled up with attendees, causing Mitchum to push back his chair, call the polite morning chitchat to a halt and start the meeting.

It was a long and tedious sit, people rambling on and on about the implications of the recession, the effect new media had on consumer behavior, increasing paper and printing costs, the new markets for the coming years…

More than half of it was lost on Logan. It wasn't that he didn't care, because he did, he just didn't care enough. Huntzberger Publishing would never go out of business – it had too much brand power for that – and if, in the unlikely event that HPG wouldn't be able to adapt to the changing market, the company would continue with a different product. Nokia started out as a paper mill and sold rubber boots before it made it big in the cell-phone industry. HPG could do the same.

Just as Logan was about to expire, Mitchum closed the meeting and he breathed a sigh of sweet relief. He was about to scoot back his chair and get the hell out of there, but Mitchum stopped him.

"We aren't done yet." Logan couldn't contain the groan that escaped him and he shot his Dad an annoyed look, but waited to talk until the room was empty. "What, is there a quiz?"

"No, but I'll remember that for our next company meeting. You are an example to the other employees, Logan. People who actually work here because they worked hard to get here – without silver spoons – so it'd be wise to drop the poor little rich boy act, it's very unbecoming and it sets a terrible example."

"Maybe the position would be better filled by someone who actually wants the job then?" Logan mumbled, but loud enough for his father to hear it and shoot him down, immediately.

"No. I don't want you jetting off across the globe, spending my hard-earned money on frivolous things like cat-shit coffee."

"I don't drink coffee," Logan said, his impatience and intolerance towards his father practically tangible.

"Fine, converting hotel swimming pools into skate rinks, then," Mitchum retorted as he rolled his eyes.

"I was nineteen, Dad." Logan's tone was strained, "And I paid for the legal expenses myself." Another threat to his beloved trust.

"Doesn't matter," Mitchum wasn't in the mood to bargain. "I want you at the company, where I can keep an eye on you."

"But…"

"No, Logan, I don't want to hear about your business plans. HPG is a paper. We will not expand to music. Had you paid attention during the meeting, you would've known."

It was clear that Logan wasn't going to win this battle any time soon, so he put the issue to rest. "Forget I even said anything. Why am I still here?"

"Rory."

Logan's eyebrows shot up in surprise and the smallest bit of guilt washed over him – as if he'd been caught – although he wasn't breaking any of the rules stipulated by his father.

"Rory?!"

Mitchum did not pick up on the obvious shock in his son's tone as he carried on pouring another cup of coffee before leaning back in his swivel chair. "She calls me, you know."

"I know," Logan said cautiously, "a standing appointment every two weeks, I believe it is."

The older Huntzberger nodded affirmatively. "She told me you were slacking on your mentoring duties."

Logan knew it was better to be truthful and admit he had slacked the first month. "Adjusting to the situation was a little difficult the first month…."

"Balancing your work load, I presume?"

"What else?" Logan felt his heart thump, thump, thump in his throat. What was ole Mitch driving at?

"Well, forgive my asking, son," he shrugged, "but there was a time that French girls and jetting off to Paris were far more important to you…"

Logan dropped his head in defeat – would he ever live down his wild teen years? "Again, I was nineteen," he told his father firmly. "I wasn't in Paris last month, I was workng and I've managed to adjust my schedule to accommodate these mentoring duties, so...."

Mitchum didn't respond, but he seemed satisfied with Logan's answer. At least in the sense that his eyes hadn't narrowed to slits, or that his cheeks flushed beet red. A few moments of tense silence passed – Mitchum enthralled in thought, Logan anxiously waiting for the next move of this ever twisted dance.

"What?" he finally asked.

"Rory has been calling less."

Logan's brows furrowed. Was Mitchum being sincere? Had he honestly flown half way around the world to ask his son why his would-be daughter stopped calling? If so, it was kind of pathetic, right? Although. Somewhere Logan really couldn't blame his Dad – if Rory suddenly stopped being a part of his life, he'd be unsettled.

"It's a busy program, Dad, as I'm sure you know," Logan tried to reassure his father. "And she has friends…"

"Friends?"

"A person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard," Logan couldn't help making a sarcastic quip, but Mitchum wasn't amused.

"I'm quite aware of the definition. Who are these friends, Logan?"

"Gemma Warrington and Nicholas Braden. Gemma is a little rough around the edges and Nick is walks around in last year's wardrobe, but both are reasonably good students."

Mitchum scribbled a few things on the legal pad in front of him.

"Ralph Lauren, is Nick's brand," Logan mentioned, trying to alleviate the tense mood, but all he really did was make it worse.

"This Nicholas is a boy?" Mitchum asked, traces of concern lacing his tone.

"That would be the appropriate description," Logan confirmed – inwardly smirking at the subtle dig he'd given Nick.

Mitchum ran an aggravated hand through is thinning hair. "Damn it, Logan. She's supposed to stay focused!"

Logan tipped his head to the side, taken aback by his father outburst. Did Mitchum even know Rory? Or Nick, for that matter? Because last night's dinner confirmed that that boy wasn't a threat, or something to loose focus over.

"Dad, come on, she's like two weeks ahead of the program! Not just for my classes, in _every single one_," he punctuated the point his was trying to make by pounding his fist on the table. "She knows the answer to every single question I ask and then some. Hell, she should be teaching the class and what Gibson said earlier is true – she deserves to win, regardless of her last name or status. She's got this hands down; she hasn't lost her focus. Believe me."

It was Mitchum's turn to be slightly taken aback. The mere mention of Nick leading Rory down the wrong path elicited an unprecedented outburst from his son. Logan not only defended a girl to his father, but praised her as well. Going by his son's definition they were certainly friends. His boy seemed changed, too. Much calmer, much more mature and Mitchum knew that it was Rory's influence.

"Where are you going?" Mitchum asked as Logan pushed back his chair.

"I've got a plane to catch. Business to attend to…." He said as gathered up his papers and tossed them into his briefcase.

"Logan," Mitchum called as his son was about to leave.

"What, Dad?" The strain and frustration was now audible in his tone. "I haven't forgotten our agreement, if that's what you're getting at."

"I…" Suddenly, Mitchum was at a loss for words. Rory did have a positive effect on his son, after all talk of French girls and converting hotel pools was gone. Maybe she could rub off some of her enthusiasm for the business on him, steer his thoughts away from the music industry. This might be the beginning of a remarkable – and beneficial - friendship and Mitchum didn't see any harm in that, especially since their agreement was fresh in Logan's mind.

"Have a safe flight, son."

* * *

**Soo. Tense-ness all the way around. Excellent. It'll probably get a little worse before it gets better. I'm not sure if I want Mitchum to stay evil or not. What do you think? **

**I turn 21 in two days, this story turns one. I will finish this before it turns two, promise. In the meantime, hope this lived up to your expectations. Despite the sporadic updates, I still love this story – haven't stopped. **

**I'll probably try for NYN II next, but I might go ahead and finish MWF first. Keep your eyes peeled. **


	17. Round Seventeen: In Good Times

**I was just in the mood to write today, so I decided to play hooky from thesis-writing. And honestly, I kind of wanted to write this right after I uploaded the previous chapter. I cannot believe we're 17 chapters in, and over 400 reviews! Big congratulations to JoPo and thank you for reviewing all of my writings regularly! And thank you all for sticking with me, reading, reviewing and enjoying this story, especially since we all know that I'm terrible at updating, so it makes it extra special! Thanks! **

**This chapter covers a lot of ground – we've got some character development for Rory, the aftermath of the Logan-Mitchum meeting and another Tuesday seminar. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the sweetness that is Gilmore Girls. **

* * *

For Rory, Wednesday was supposed to be business as usual, what with her normal morning seminar and afternoon get together with some industry official. There were not any super-secret important meetings that required spur-of-the-moment plane rides and overnight stays.

The thing was, though, that it wasn't business as usual. She was almost late for class after falling back asleep after her alarm had gone off. Apparently, she'd become accustomed to the smell of freshly set coffee - and the man who presented her with the steaming mug - as an extra wake-up call. Without her morning chit-chat she felt as if something was missing…

Nevertheless, she managed to get to class on time and as her peers heaved a heavy sigh at the topic "E-readers: Friend or Foe?", she thrived, nailing each question hurled her way. Of course, she was not all too interested in E-readers, especially considering that she'd much rather hold a book made of real paper and ink, but it was a distraction. And, more importantly, it was part of the program and that's why she was in London.

Before the Future Writers were expected at Claridges Banquet Hall for a mock-graphics and design meeting with Leslie Greene, Rory, Gemma and Nicholas stopped at a small London coffee house to snack on lattes and cream-cheese topped bagels.

"Rory, I can't believe you managed to take that seminar seriously," Gemma said as she took a sip of her iced coffee. "That man, what's his name, Munson?..." she gabbed on, not really wanting or waiting for an answer, "…really has no clue what he's going on about, does he? I mean, does he honestly think that everyone is always going to have the latest technology?"

Nicholas nodded in agreement. "Not everyone is in the financial position to drop a couple hundred quid on whatever Apple comes out with," he smiled smugly as he ran a finger over his new I-Phone.

Rory frowned a little at Nick's incessant need to show-off his expensive gadgets; however, she chalked this up to a difference of class. The true elite did not need to talk about money, simply because they had enough of it to know it was in poor taste to discuss it openly.

"Munson's not a bad guy," Rory shrugged as she joined in the conversation. Actually, according to Logan, Phillip Munson was the only competent tech-advisor and genuinely nice guy on HPG's board and Rory couldn't help but agree with Logan. "He may be a little long-winded, but he's right when he says that – eventually – the whole world will be online. Maybe not on the latest I-Phones, but last year's model will put you online just the same…"

Rory reached for her giant coffee as Gemma and Nick exchanged a faintly bugged look, which she caught. "What?"

Gemma rolled her eyes in a semi-playful way. "We aren't in class anymore, Rory. No professors to impress, no grades to win, you don't have to have the perfect answer at the ready."

Under the scrutiny of Rory's tense glare, Gemma added a light laugh for good measure but it did nothing to change the expression on Rory's face. Criticism – constructive or otherwise - did not sit well with her. Not only was it uncalled for, but she was a Gilmore-Hayden for crying out loud! Sure the gossip rags did their fair share of commenting on her every move, but that was out of her hands, and an entirely different matter. She felt no need to be criticized in person, especially not by two upper-middle-class, wanna-be-snobs donning last years Ralph Lauren.

A tight smile formed at Rory's lips. "I see."

"Oh, don't pout now," Nick laughed. "You're not honestly mad, are you?"

Rory purposely bit off a piece of her bagel so as to avoid Nick's intrusive question. How could she not be mad? Nick and Gemma were supposed to be her friends! Dave and Lane – the only other real friends she had - never judged her, even in the aftermath of He-Who-Didn't-Love-Me-Back, Dave and Lane were there with her, helping her rationalize her very, very poor decisions and terribly low standards.

It occurred to Rory that Gemma and Nick didn't know that Rory, the dark-and-twisty version of herself; of course they only knew the practically perfect persona she created. Here, she was the girl everyone loved to hate because she knew all the right answers, because she made good grades and because she was the teachers pet. Inwardly, she shook her head at how she completely turned her life around, from one extreme to the other.

Maybe Gem and Nick did have a point, maybe she should lighten up a bit; however, she knew she couldn't. Rory knew just how quickly she could go back to the dark-and-twistiness. Richard's death had landed her right there. Drunkenly making her way through his eulogy, publically making a fool of herself, knocking back G&Ts in gazebos and crying into Logan's weak-knees inducing chest. And, therefore again, making a fool of herself.

Rory washed down her bagel with a swig of coffee, and decided that if it came down to it, she'd rather be known for her smarts than her rebellious antics. She rather want _Logan_ to know her for smarts than rebellious antics. "I'm not mad," Rory said through a heavy sigh.

"You had to think about it, though, eh?" Nick teased and Rory smirked a little. "Guess I don't always have the perfect answer at the ready."

"I suppose not," Gemma shot her friend a sympathetic smile and was about to apologize, but Rory stopped her before she could and side-stepped to a new topic of conversation. "This is a really great spot, I can't believe I didn't know about it!"

"Oh, it's been here for ages," Gemma gushed, "Next time you'll have to try the strawberry and banana topped bagel, it's outrageously good."

"It's fruit, Gemmy," Nick winked, "you know Rory doesn't eat that!"

Before Rory could respond her cell buzzed and without glancing at the display, she automatically picked up. "Hello?"

"Hey Ace."

Her breath hitched and her heart skipped a beat. It was Logan. He was calling her. On her cell phone, in the middle of the day, breaking all sorts of unspoken rules.

"Hi, uh, hey-hi," she stumbled, thanking her sub-conscious for not bursting out his name. Rory pulled the phone away from her ear and directed herself toward her friends, curiousness written on both their faces. "I'm just going to take this outside," she said as casually as possible, before scooting of her stool and walking out the door. She didn't resume the conversation until she had found herself a relatively quiet and private spot on the busy sidewalk.

"Catch you at a bad time?" Logan asked and Rory could practically see him smirking.

"I'm having lunch with Gemma and Nicholas…"

"…at Café 42?" he asked nonchalantly.

"No, at Elliot's," Rory replied, a little taken aback by the casual route this conversation was taking. Surely, Logan hadn't just called to shoot the breeze and especially not when their cover could be blown.

However, Logan didn't seemed to care, as he babbled on about how he loved the bagels at Elliot's but how he and Finn could never go in, because of Finn's track record with the female wait staff.

"Um," Rory interrupted hesitantly, a anxious feeling taking over her body as she feared that Nick or Gemma would come out and find her talking on the phone to him. "It's not that I don't like taking to you, because I do…."

"Mitchum's an asshole, Ace," Logan cut through Rory's nervous rambling. "How I'm related to that man is a mystery. A big, giant, mystery. It's that I know my mother is hopelessly devoted to him otherwise I'd ask for a paternity test. And from here on out Troy Gibson will for always be referred to as Troll Glibson!"

A half-smile captured Rory's face – he was calling her to vent. "So, I take it the meeting wasn't all sunshine and roses?"

Logan snorted into the phone. "Waste of my fucking time."

"So what was so bad?" Rory asked as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure her privacy wasn't in jeopardy.

She heard him sigh deeply, but it was clear he wasn't in the mood to go into details. "Mitchum is just Mitchum. It's the constant power struggle. He won't hear me out on my business plans and he gets his kicks treating me like a kid. Like I'm clueless about the industry."

"He doesn't think your clueless, otherwise he wouldn't made you my mentor," Rory reminded him gently and Logan smirked a bit. "Maybe so. But I still hate Mitchum."

"Understandably," Rory agreed, before letting out a deep sigh. "I should really give him a call, before he summons me to a meeting in Scotland, too!"

Logan chuckled, "He wouldn't do that to you. But calling wouldn't be a bad idea," he mentioned as an afterthought. " Got to play it safe, you know."

She absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "So, where are you now?"

"In the car, almost at the airport."

"So you'll be home tonight?" She couldn't hide the excitement in her tone, though she wasn't the only one.

"No place in the world I'd rather be."

The emotion in his tone caught her off-guard and left her unable to come back with a casual, funny remark, which had become part of their trademark banter. Perhaps feeling self-conscious about his confession, Logan carried on the conversation as if nothing had happened. "I was thinking I'd make paella for dinner?"

Rory scrunched up her nose, "Or pizza…?"

Logan laughed, knowing there was no way his Mediterranean rice would win over Rory's pizza craving. "So pizza it is."

"Yay!" Rory squealed, "we should probably order an extra pizza and some of those cheesy breadsticks…"

"Finn's still in wallowing mode?" Logan asked.

"Major wallowing mode," Rory informed him. "Oh, and we need ice-cream."

"You finished the gallon tub of ice-cream?"

"Hey, don't judge!" she shot back playfully.

"Hey, I'm not judging," Logan laughed, "I'll pick some up on my way home. But I'm picking the flavor."

"As long as it's Chocolate Cherry that's fine by me," Rory teased and Logan laughed again, before turning a little more serious. "You don't think we can persuade Finn that a night on the town is the recipe to mend his broken heart?"

Rory's smile spread a little further at what Logan was driving at. "Probably not. He's is bad shape and he'll be on the couch between you and me. Crying."

"Well isn't that pleasant," Logan said sarcastically.

"Yep. I know," she sighed, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the conversation she was having with him. "Hey, look. I've got to go. Gemma and Nick are probably going to start looking for me any minute."

"Probably," Logan agreed. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't think when I called. You've got class and that design and graphics meeting to get to…"

"Don't worry," Rory interrupted him, and softened her tone. "I'm glad you called. Even if it was a bit risky."

"Well, I like risks." Again, she could practically see his smirk, and she knew a similar one was gracing her face as she replied. "That's good to know."

She heard him swallow. "See you tonight, Ace."

Rory said her goodbyes before disconnecting the call. Her screen lit up "_Call Ended: Distraction." _She rolled her eyes at how she'd listed him in her phone. He was certainly a distraction - her palms were slightly sweaty and her heart was pounding so hard in her chest she was sure passersby could hear it, too. In the fifty steps or so back to the café, she managed to collect herself.

"Hey," she smiled casually as she approached the table.

"You, my friend, are the Queen of Babble," Gemma laughed, "Nick and I almost started a search party."

"Well…you know…" Rory dismissed Gemma's comment with a wave of her hand, but Gemma wasn't going to be brushed off so easily. "So you aren't going to tell me who took up most of your precious lunch-break? A lover stateside, perhaps?" she asked with a mischievous raise of an eyebrow.

Rory coughed loudly, almost chocking on the last bite of her bagel and Nick's questioning eyes flew to hers.

"Are you alright?" he asked, handing Rory her coffee cup. She took it, gratefully, and proceeded to take a giant sip.

"So, I take that as a yes, then?" Gemma grinned, but Rory simply shook her head and smiled.

"It was my Mom. We can talk for hours."

"Oh."

Gemma sounded somewhat disappointed, considering the girl lived for delicious gossip and Rory couldn't help but notice the relief that shone through Nicholas' tone. She didn't allow herself to read too much into that – she was just happy it sounded convincing. Rory almost believed herself, had it not been for the film of sweat to appear on the palms of hands.

* * *

Logan really didn't know why he had called Rory, but as he left Mitchum's office, being pissed off and emotional, he dialed her number without thinking and not really caring about the consequences. Nick or Gemma could've picked up Rory's phone as a joke, they could've seen his name flashing across the screen, she could've picked up with a casual "Hey, Logan." And it would've been him that'd blown their cover and it'd be his ass Mitchum would want to kick. Hard. Even though his call was stupid and reckless, the way she talked to him – let him vent without judging him, and made him laugh even, was enough to outweigh the risks.

And, there was no mistake, it was a risk. _"That's good to know_". The flirty desire and lust was practically tangible as those words made their way over the phone, and Logan was sure that if they had been having that conversation in the privacy of his kitchen, he would leaned in and crushed his lips against hers. His self-control was slipping and not just in that way. Here he was picking up cherry chocolate ice-cream and pizzas for her, because she'd shoot him a grateful smile, and that smile was better than home-cooked paella.

As much as Logan wanted to give into the temptation, he was also happy that Finn was in one of his "love-is-a-train-wreck" modes and spent his days moping on the couch. The boy was a magnificent buffer and judging by Rory's behavior, she seemed to agree. The flirtatious smiles and the quick looks were still there, but she seemed more focused and driven then ever before. It was extreme, but so was he and he could appreciate that.

* * *

Tuesday's seminar arrived quicker than Rory and Logan had realized. For Logan, it was another two hours of hoping that his behavior towards Rory wasn't too different from the way he treated others. For Rory, it was another two hours of not-too-obvious ogling (she hoped!) as she absorbed all of the knowledge he was willing to share.

"Today we have an exciting topic," Logan announced to the still-groggy group. "We'll start off with some negotiation and debate points and then we'll split up into teams to put that debate theory into practice."

His students – apart from Rory, and Gemma, he noticed – shot him a less than impressed look. "Well, I for one, can't imagine a better way to start my Tuesday morning," Logan quipped and started his lecture.

After some tips and tricks, Logan divided the students into groups and the debating started. It soon became clear that Rory's team was a force to reckon with. Together with her team mates, she crushed opponent after opponent, which was slightly amusing at first, but after four rounds it was starting to become a little cruel and Logan stopped the exercise.

"So, it seems that Miss Gilmore's team is out for the kill," Logan commented dryly as the students found their way back to their seats.

"Not true – she's just an awesome team captain, Mr. Huntzberger," Nicholas said as slunk down in to his chair.

"Well, that's good to hear," Logan shot Nick a tight smile, before turning his attention towards his class.

"Miss Gilmore is offering you all stiff competition. Be aware of that, and remember what's at stake…"

"...a year long position at HPG's head offices in London," someone from the back called.

"Indeed," Logan nodded, "I'm sure this still sounds appealing to you..."

"London is an amazing city, sir," Gemma interjected excitedly, "if living here doesn't sound appealing, you really should have your head checked!"

Logan shrugged as he cocked his head to the side, slightly amused by Gemma's brashness. "Very true," he agreed and a big grin spread over Gemma's face.

"Well, I wouldn't mind staying in London," Rory announced suddenly and much to Logan's surprise – she usually didn't go out of her way to draw attention to herself.

"Is that so?" Logan asked, as his eyes found their way to hers.

Rory swallowed, feeling the effects of his intense gaze. "Yes." She hoped no one heard the slight crack in her voice. "I like…London."

The tiniest of smirks tugged at Logan's lips and the words left his mouth before he could stop them. "That's good to know."

Her heart skipped a beat; those were her words, boomeranged back at her, laced with the same flirty undertones and desire.

He coughed, and she averted her gaze, breaking their eye contact. "For the board. Obviously, it's good for them to know who likes London."

"I believe we all do, Mr. Huntzberger," Gemma's harsh accent cut through the room and Logan looked at her. "Well, good. Means it'll be a long final meeting and we can order Chinese food. I love Chinese food."

A polite chuckle flitted through the room and with a curt nod Logan dismissed his group of Future Writers.

* * *

"Whatcha reading there, Ace?" His voice cut through her thoughts and Rory looked up to find Logan – tie loose and top shirt buttons popped open – smiling above her. She scrambled to sit up straight and held up her book so he could see the cover. "Huck Finn," Rory answered, silently cursing herself for wearing PJs. Really – who changes into sweats and an oversized t-shirt at four in the afternoon?

Surprised, Logan raised his eyebrow. "What, no home work?," before following up by asking if she wanted a cup of coffee.

"Vanilla latté, please," Rory answered as she followed him into the kitchen and sat at her usual place at the breakfast bar.

She watched Logan as he fixed their drinks. She loved how he knew how to operate the coffee machine by heart and how his strong hands twisted the cap off the rum bottle, or how he easily popped the top on his can of ice-cold cola. Rory liked how he took the first sip alcohol-free, straight from the can. Logan always followed up with a little sigh of pure pleasure – much like the sound she made after her first sip of coffee. It was cute. _He _was cute.

She'd just have to give in to having a constant film of sweat on her palms.

He handed her the freshly brewed coffee concoction and smirked as she got lost in the first sip of her beverage.

"Good coffee?"

"Excellent."

"Good," he nodded approvingly. "So, are you going to tell me why you aren't doing your homework?"

Rory pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed at what she was about to tell him. "It's kind of finished."

Logan put his glass back down on the counter. "What? There's, like, a month left…"

"That's why I'm _kind of _finished. I'm sure they'll be a few extra assignments, but I finished everything on the syllabus…."

"The essays and the assignments?" he asked, shooting her a mock-challenging look.

"Yep," Rory nodded. "All spell-checked and everything."

"Hm. What about the required reading?" he asked, narrowing his eyes to playful slits.

"Logan, I read all of the books on the required reading list. Twice."

"In your life?" he asked.

"No, in the time that I was here," she responded as if he comment was crazy.

"What?" he asked again, this time with genuine surprise in his tone.

Rory threw her head back in laugher. "You know there are only six or seven books on that list, right? It's the bare minimum of literature."

"Yeah," he shrugged, "but still!"

Rory shrugged a little and took a sip of her coffee. Logan sighed, and took a sip of his rummy coke. "So, this means you're done?"

"Pretty much," she nodded.

Logan was impressed. "That's amazing, Ace." Actually, _she_ was amazing. Normally, that thought would've made him uncomfortable, but ever since his Glasgow trip and the risk-taking phone call, something shifted. He spent so long trying to fight those thoughts: the "treat like sister" imposed rule, the nights at the office, ignoring the whole situation, but it didn't help. There was something about her that he was just drawn to, even way back when on that first transatlantic flight. He told himself it was for fun, just a game, but subconsciously he had to have known it was going to be more than that.

By now, he was flat out staring at her and Rory felt his eyes on her. "You okay?" she asked, adding a tiny chuckle to her question.

"What are you doing next Friday?" he asked her. He himself was slightly taken aback at how rapidly those words left his mouth and she too was considering the fact that her eyes grew to the size of saucers and she was rendered speechless.

All in all, it wasn't a bad reaction – she was slightly overwhelmed – but nothing a little backtracking couldn't fix. "Three weeks before the big FTF-finale, there is a opportunity for one special student to go along on a business trip," Logan explained.

"Okay," she nodded, not entirely seeing where Logan was taking this.

"This year, it's in Paris. I'm acquiring a new paper."

"You are?" Rory's nose scrunched up in confusion and a small smile played at his lips. "Well, not just me, Ace, but I oversee these things…"

She managed to nod, but the humor he was trying to add to the conversation was lost on her, so he continued with his explanation. "The other board members and I still have to get together and decide who's worthy of this prize, and I can't think of any one other than you."

He waited a beat for his words – and what he said between the lines – to sink in. She tore her gaze off him as she mulled over what he was saying. It was real, the stolen glances, the intense smiles, the flirty banter, the sweaty palms, the thump, thump, thump of her heart; it was all real. Her mind hadn't been playing tricks on her. He was more than her mentor, more than a distraction, and more than she could ignore. Rory didn't worry about the magnitude of the risk she was taking, professionally as well as with her heart - he stood here before her offering her Paris and so much more. Slowly, her eyes found his again.

"So, Paris?" she asked in a small, slightly unsure voice.

"Paris," Logan nodded affirmatively. He leaned down and rested his elbows on the counter, allowing him to be eye-to-eye with Rory. "We'd have to be on our best behavior during the day…" he warned, before he reached out and brushed the back of her hand with his fingers, "…but I know this little restaurant no one from HPG knows about."

Her eyes dropped to the marble breakfast bar, where her right hand was completely covered by one of his beautiful hands. She was glad they weren't actually holding hands; the sweat was probably a turn-off and besides, it'd give away her nerves.

She looked up and smiled at him, letting him know that the semi-handholding was okay. "What restaurant?" she asked, her question laced with excitement.

"Well, I can't tell you, that'd ruin the surprise.." he teased, gently and ever so slightly moving his fingers over the back of her hand. Rory nipped her bottom lip at his touch and a shiver went down his spine. All of this from simple skin-to-skin contact – holding hands! He'd never experienced something as straightforward as that to be so intense. He imagined what effect that'd have on their first kiss, and the first time he'd lay eyes on her naked form...

"You know I hate surprises!" Rory's pout brought him back to the here-and-now. "Just reveal a little bit?"

One look and he gave in. "Well, since we have to be careful about not getting caught, I thought we'd go to Nice, which is a 90 minute flight away from Paris…"

For the second time, Rory was left wide-eyed and speechless. It was obvious to her that whatever feelings he harbored didn't just happen overnight. This date – could she call it a date? – was something he'd thought over. "A private dinner-for-two in Nice," she repeated slowly, letting it really sink in. "That sounds perfect."

Logan tipped his head to the side, smirk in place. "I believe I had a date to make-up for?"

Rory's eyes flew to his – so she could call it a date – and she tipped her head, smirk pulling at her lips, to match his position.

"That you do."

* * *

**Gah! So, so close to a kiss, but it's not meant to be.. not yet (if you want to be spoiled, just PM me, I'll give you the scoop). I hope I did okay on this chapter. Maybe the date is a bit sudden, since they both kept their feelings hidden for so long, but then again, maybe not! Review if your excited for the next chapter!**


	18. Round Eighteen: In Bad Times

**Super stoked at the response for the last chapter. You guys are amazing and I'm so excited about this story it's insane. I will, will, will work on my other stories. Hopefully sometime next week. I am thisclose to finishing school so that should be good for my updating schedule. **

**Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own GG **

* * *

It was Friday morning. The Friday morning, the Friday morning with the Friday night over vodka penne in Nice with Logan. It was the Friday she'd been waiting for and at noon today, the Board was set to announce which lucky Future Writer would tag along to the business meeting in Paris, and Rory would release a sigh a relief at what was happening.

Because she wanted it to happen, she'd been waiting for it to happen. She'd been waiting for him. And he'd been waiting for her, too; it was obvious. Perhaps that's why their already painstakingly slow relationship slowed to a near halt after Logan proposed Paris to her last week. To preserve the magic. To embark on this the right way. Alone. In Paris, without HPG or Mitchum or Finn interrupting.

"I'll see you at noon?" Logan smirked at her over coffee (for Rory) and herbal tea (for him) on this fine morning.

"You bet," Rory confirmed with a sweet nod, "My bag is packed!" and she pointed at the Louis Vuitton roller bag standing next to the couch in the living room.

"Presumptuous much, there Ace?"

"Well," she grinned a little mischievously, "I've got a very reliable source…"

Fake ignorance crept over his features as he smirked his reply. "Is that so?"

Rory caught his wicked grin and excitement flooded her body as she thought about tonight. Tonight she'd reach across the table top and brush his hand and he'd lean in closer and brush the stray hair from her face, before cupping her chin and crashing his lips into hers.

But since it was still morning, and she was in her PJs, bantering at the breakfast bar, she nipped her bottom lip and nodded. "Yep."

Logan cracked another winning smile as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was about to quip his comeback, but a sharp buzz cut through the building tension.

"Shit!" he murmured as he glanced down at the screen. "It's Westville ," he said to no one in particular, before grabbing his briefcase off the counter and pressed the phone to his ear. "Huntzberger." A stream of whats, I'm sorrys, and I'm on my ways left his mouth and he left the apartment, leaving a slightly shocked Rory behind.

She'd only ever heard Logan talk about Frances Westville, his role in the FTF-program was limited, but being one of the board members, he was a influential person within HPG, and a call from him, especially one before 7 am, meant trouble. Rory, however, just chalked it up to last minute preparations for this afternoon's luncheon and decided that her weekend bag could do with her black Yves Saint Laurent dress. After all, she'd only thought to pack her Chanel and a girl needed options.

* * *

"Oh this is a special lunch, isn't it?" Gemma remarked as she, Nicholas, and Rory made their way down the long hotel corridor to the Crystal Ballroom. "I mean, this isn't a Holiday Inn Express, is it?"

"Maybe the Marriott didn't appreciate HPG's business?" Nicholas suggested, but once he caught Rory's disapproving glare (really, what kind of self-respecting company rejects HPG?), he added, "or maybe the Board finally got the memo about the coffee complaints…"

"You reckon?" Gemma asked with a wink in her voice and Rory rolled her eyes, shrugging. "Perhaps." Figuring it to be in her best interest to play dumb, she carried on, "The Ritz-Carlton doesn't seem like an instant-serving establishment…"

The group rounded the corner and found themselves in the magically decorated Crystal Ballroom. Huge bouquets of yellow and white roses were placed in the middle of crisp white table-clothed tables, framed by plush red chairs. A spotlight focused on the stage at the far end of the room and taller versions of the bouquets lined the corners of the stage.

"Coffee, tea, or juice, Miss?" a server managing the lunch buffet asked Rory.

"Coffee," Rory replied automatically and without missing a beat, the server rattled off her coffee options (regular, decaf, or special blend), her flavoring (vanilla, mocha, or caramel) and her choice of topping (whipped or foam). Rory smiled – definitely not an instant establishment – as she placed her order (regular, vanilla, whipped). She looked over her shoulder and found Gemma and Nick ordering their beverages. Nick sent a wink her way, before the three moved on to the lunch portion of the buffet.

Maybe she should've chosen a sophisticated lunch, like salmon and rocket wraps, considering the setting of the gathering. Or perhaps, she should've taken something easy on like stomach, like spring chicken bouillon, in case her nerves got the better of her on this Big Night. But she didn't, instead she opted for a cheese burger – an angus beef burger topped with aged English Cheddar - but a burger nonetheless.

"They've got seven chairs set up on that stage," Gemma noted, trying to take a dainty bite of her salmon wrap, "who for?"

"There's seven Board members…" Nick said and he started to count them off, "Westville, Huntzberger, Gibson, Morris, Munson, Saunders, and Berger."

Gemma nodded as if Nick's suggestion made sense, "but then why'd they call us all here?"

"A goodbye luncheon?" he suggested.

"Or maybe they'll announce that instead of 1 person, they'll admit 2 people for the program…"

"Maybe someone's dropped out!" Nick countered a little too eagerly for what he was implying.

Rory let Gemma and Nicholas speculate as she let her thoughts wander… She had not expected this announcement to be this big. The Ritz, the lunch, the spot-lit podium. The prospect of Nice and dinner and Logan had caused her thoughts to jumble, distracting her from what an accomplishment this was: she was going to be acknowledged for her hard work and dedication to the program. Not just from Logan, but from the Board, people who didn't know her as the granddaughter of Richard and Emily, people who didn't know her for her scandal beginnings and tumulus teen years, but just as Rory, the hard-working future writer, who deserved the business trip to Paris.

Nicholas brushed his fingers over Rory's forearm. "There they are," he cocked his head toward the stage, "all 7 of 'em."

Rory immediately spotted Logan, sandwiched between a smug looking Gibson and a salt-and-peppered haired man wearing a grey jacket and a green tartan waist coat. He looked tense, his lips forming a tight smile and his eyes staring vacantly into the crowd, avoiding all eye-contact with Rory.

Not that she'd expected his eyes to find hers in the crowd, especially not on this day. They'd both been so careful to keep up the student-mentor front, that they'd let nothing, even something as subtle and insignificant as a second of eye-contact, take away from that carefully crafted image and jeopardize Nice.

Tartan Waist Coat stepped up to the lectern and cleared his throat before speaking. "I am Frances Westville, and on behalf of the Board of Directors, I would like to extend a very warm welcome to you all on this Friday afternoon." He paused to accept the polite round of applause, before carrying on.

"Future writers," he boomed into the microphone, "My colleagues tell me you entered this program full of naïve hopes and dreams, ideas and fantasies about the business, but from where I'm standing I can see how far you've come in a little over two months. Things the Future Writers Program let you experience have probably met or exceeded your expectations, but I know that there a quite a few that had some soul-crushing effects on a great deal of you, chipping away the glossy sheen the paper industry had for you. However, your lecturers and coaches have seen you blossom and grow, greedily taking in each and every experience offered to you. You've shown a great willingness to learn and demonstrated dedication to the program. Admittedly, some of you have managed to exceed our expectations as a Board and that, my Future Writers, is why we've asked you to gather here today…"

Nicholas nudged Rory, "See, I told you they'd end up offering two positions!" She humored him with a smile – she knew better.

Westville rambled on about recognition and threw in a few choice terms like "tremendous commit" and "bright future", before announcing that this "diamond in the rough" would be awarded with a the opportunity to experience a business transaction up close and personal, this afternoon, in Paris, for a sneak peek into his or her possible future.

A tiny condescending grin appeared on his face as an audible gasp flitted through the crowd. "And to announce to you, who that special honor goes to, is the man who has committed the most of his time to this program and the man who will be accompanying the lucky Future Writer to Paris, Logan Huntzberger."

As he stepped back and Logan stepped forward, a handful of girls sighed and wished they'd done better. Oh, to spend an overnight trip in Paris with the very, very single and very, very sexy Logan Huntzberger was every girl's dream.

Rory could not help the smug smile that played at her lips. In a minute she'd hear her name effortlessly pass over his lips and the other girls in the room would heave a heavy sigh, adding this to their "why I'm jealous of Rory Gilmore" lists. She'd probably be on the receiving end of some death stares, but it didn't matter - Logan was most certainly worth the jealous glares.

"Thank-you for that magnificent introduction, Mr. Westville," Logan said, adding a little bow, which earned him a few laughs from the crowd. Logan carefully arranged his note cards, before adjusting the microphone, striking a somewhat nervous appearance.

"I know this announcement comes a surprise to you," he said, quickly glancing down at his note cards, "but this is one of the Program's best kept secrets and the Future Writer whose name I'm about to call should be honored. However, I'd like to stress that this decision is based on the input of the entire Board of Directors…"

"Good," Rory thought self-righteously, "he's diverting the attention to the Board, letting the rest know that it's not his opinion, leaving speculation about their couple-status out of the equation."

Obviously, it _was_ the Board's decision. They thought she was great, not just him.

"… and today's outcome does not in any way affect the final outcome. Everyone is still in the race for the year-long position at Huntzberger Publishing."

"Excellent," passed through Rory's mind, "let those poor, poor bastards think they still stand a chance at winning…"

Rory was too wrapped up in her smugness that she failed to notice how Logan's eyes nervously darted across the room, briefly seeking eye-contact with her, before clearing his throat and announcing the winner.

"So, the lucky Future Writer who'll find him, or herself on this afternoon's corporate flight to Paris is Miss Gemma Warrington!"

Immediately, 100 heads turned to spot the curly blond in the crowd, who'd let out a deafening shriek. Part in shock, but mostly to let the other girls know that she – yes, she! – was going to spend 48 hours with the extremely single and sex-sex-sexy Logan in the city that screamed love.

Logan spotted Gemma in the crowd and, as dictated by protocol, motioned for her to come towards the stage. He tried his best to keep a neutral look on his face, but somewhere he hoped that Rory noticed the guilt etched on his face. She didn't, though, as she sat there in complete shock, mouth slightly open, bottom lip slightly quivering.

Meanwhile, an 'Oh My God' shrieking Gemma stood up and made her way towards the stage, very much like she was a contestant on some low-class game show. _Come on down, Miss Worthington and claim your prize! _

Rory briefly felt Logan's eyes on her, but she couldn't risk looking at him, and he broke his gaze as Gemma reached the stage and Rory's running voice-over continued in her mind.

_You've won an original Logan Huntzberger. This 1984 model features perfectly rustled blonde hair and tight abs and the ability to take your breath away by casually leaning over the breakfast bar and handing you a perfectly set cup of coffee. He is also completely flexible in terms of dinner (he'll cook!) and movies (you pick!). It's no wonder he's our grand prize!" _

"Except, of course, that it also turned out that he was a lying and cruel douche bag, who thought nothing of secretly humiliating his supposed date," Rory bitterly argued to her inner dialogue. In fact, she was so caught up in this moment of complete and utter devastation, she forgot the part where she was supposed to clap politely and smile tightly at Gemma.

Nicholas' hand suddenly resting on her shoulder helped her snap out of it, though. "Isn't that something," he remarked, "our little Gemmy is all grown up and jetting off to Paris…"

Rory forced a smile, one that she hoped that didn't look resentful, but Nick noticed. "You put up a good front, girl, but I see through your mask."

"Mask?" she shrugged, playing dumb.

"The fake smile you're wearing," he pointed at her face. Rory's eyes dropped to his index finger, which was hovering just centimeters from her face, "it's plain as day…."

Rory held her breath – for a second she was convinced Nicholas was going to tell her he knew about her secret, crazy-love for Logan, - but he didn't. "…you're jealous," he said and pulled his left shoulder up, shrugging, "can't say I blame you. I sure as hell am. What an absolutely brilliant experience, even if it's with some business deal with arrogant French snobs. It's a business trip – a career defining one, at that!"

"Yeah" Rory nodded, releasing the breath she'd been holding. That it was, too. What had Westville said? Recognition for a hardworking diamond in the rough with a bright and shiny future?

Apparently, that bright and shiny future was not hers to have. This was a set-back of sorts. She never failed. But then again, she'd never exactly been given the chance to fail. Being a child with double hyphens, meant she was inviolable; above the law, like the Queen. So even if she fucked it up – which she'd done countless ways and countless times – it didn't matter.

But today, as just Rory Gilmore without the support of her last names, it did matter. She was average, but she lost. To Gemma, with her stupid frizzy hair and toothy smile and who wore last year's Ralph Lauren.

Rory kind of wanted to bolt – it wasn't as if she was going to get the chance to speak to Logan here as he and Gemma would be whisked away to a conference room to discuss business. But even if she saw him, what would she be able to say?

But Westville stepped up to the microphone mumbling on about not to be disappointed and how this luncheon was another opportunity to network and Rory realized she couldn't bolt. After all, she had done a good job at creating a practically perfect persona and it would be out of character to bitterly stomp out of the ballroom. Not to mention it'd set tongues wagging and that was something she wanted to avoid at all costs.

Twelve cheese puffs, two champagne flutes and thirty minutes later, Rory's cheeks were sore from the fake smiles she was giving her peers as they stepped up to her, offering her their smug comments on the situation.

"Gee, talk about choosing the underdog, huh?" a label-less girl said to Rory and her Lagerfeld-for-H&M wearing friend added, "yeah, I thought they were going to choose you!"

_That's what I thought, too!_ Rory's mind screamed, but instead she clenched her champagne flute tighter and gave the most ambiguous answer she could. "It is what it is." And the girls scurried away and Rory took another champagne from the tray.

She had no clue what that meant. So, Logan publically dropped a bomb on her, informing her that she wasn't going to Paris. The Board, apparently, chose Gemma instead. Was this his twisted, sadistic way of saying that he was backing out of their date – that he'd rather be with Gemma? Was that what it was?

"Those were the fakest smile I've ever seen," Nicholas said, dragging Rory from her thoughts.

She took a sip of champagne before answering him. "It is what it is."

He snorted a little, a smile gently pulling at his lips. "You want to skip out on the rest of the festivities. Maybe get a drink somewhere less crowded?"

"Um," Rory pondered over his question but ultimately decided that she was in desperate need of sweat pants, coffee and a good book. "Maybe later – I think I'm just going to go home…" and she tipped back her last sip of champagne.

"Do you want me to call a cab?"

"Don't be silly, I'm going to walk."

Rory wasn't drunk. Really, three flutes of substandard bubbly barely made a dent. Although the dent it made was big enough to set her mind abuzz and doubt everything. She was a writer – this trip was supposed to happen.

She was a Gilmore-Hayden and had pull behind the scenes – this trip was supposed to happen.

She was just Rory Gilmore, the super-smart talented writer, to the outside world – this trip was supposed to happen.

Logan asked her out on a date – this trip was supposed to happen.

But it was not going to happen. Instead, Gemma was going in her place and Rory was to stay behind. That cycle kept repeating itself in her mind but she couldn't make sense of it. Rory and Lorelei-Leigh were mixed, business and personal crossed and the line between fantasy and reality faded.

* * *

By the time she reached her apartment door, she was tired and let down. All she really wanted to do was crawl into bed and hide under the covers. But of course, with today being today it was not that easy.

To her surprise, she found Logan, suitcase open on the coffee table, packing for his 48 hour trip to Paris.

Stabbing her in the chest would've been less painful and offer her a sweet release from this terribly awkward situation.

Make no doubt about it, there was guilt scribbled all over Logan's face as he dropped his gaze down to Rory's LV-roller next to couch. It wasn't going anywhere. He looked up and caught the anger in her eyes. Maybe there were flecks of confusion and betrayal, but anger was the overriding fear. And she wasn't talking, letting him swelter in awkwardness.

He supposed it was her right after this afternoon's embarrassment.

"Hey," he offered as his dazzling opening line, and quickly followed up with the equally brilliant, "I didn't expect you home."

Rory's left eyebrow shot up unimpressed. Seriously? That's what he was going with? "I really wasn't in the mood for festivities," she said coolly and she wondered if the sharpness in her tone could be attributed to her champagne consumption.

Logan was a little taken aback by the ice in Rory's tone. "Right, I understand…"

"You do?" she cut him off sharply.

"I do! You know this afternoon wasn't supposed to go down like that." The tiniest bit of aggravation lined his words. Didn't Rory get that this was an impossible position for him.

Apparently, she didn't as she continued on a sarcastic note. "It wasn't?" she scoffed, "Because, really, I thought Gemma's deafening shrieks added a nice touch!"

"Ace!" Logan sighed and he cocked his head to the side. He knew she had every right to be upset but why did she have to be so hard on him?

"What Logan?" Rory snapped although she hated herself for it. She hated, hated, hated that she was letting this get to her. That meant that it meant something and he was not even hers to have yet. Maybe his cavalier behavior about the whole thing indicated that it did not mean as much to him. And she hated that even more; letting herself get so wrapped up in a guy, a guy that in fact might not even be all that into her. She was not that girl any more. She was trying so hard to not be that girl.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely as he dug his hands into his pockets. "I thought you winning was a done deal. It should have gone to you."

"Then why didn't it?" she demanded.

"Politics," Logan said with a dismissive wave. "Westville thinks it's better press if a girl like Gemma wins instead of a girl like you."

"You mean a girl who finished her homework a month in advance? Or you mean a girl who works hard and is determined? Because I do think Westville had those points on his shortlist?"

"You are also the girl who has a genuine Birkin," he said through an agitated sigh.

"So what? FTF is a prestigious program. Every single student is a snob or pretends to be one!"

"The Board seems to think there is a difference between this year's Birkin and last year's Ralph Lauren," he said – frustration obvious in his tone.

Rory looked at him in disbelief. Was he really getting frustrated with her? If anyone, he should get mad at the Board. Of all the bat-shit crazy thing she'd heard, this took the cake – she had gone to the Writers Program to be a normal girl, ditch the hyphens and now her last names were still working against her!

"Gibson said that Gemma portrays an image of "accessible class" which means that average Joes and Janes will be more inclined to submit applications for next year, which in turn means that we'll have to turn down more people, thus amplifying our image of exclusivity. Or snobbism, as you put it."

"It's not funny, Logan," Rory said, "it's a bunch of bullshit. And you went along with it."

His jaw clenched at Rory's accusation. Where did she get off saying that he just went along with it, like it was okay. It wasn't okay and he was disappointed but it was business. Just business.

"What was I going to do, Rory?" he asked exasperated. "Make a big stink? Put unnecessary attention on us? Just whip out the restaurant reservations and explain my predicament?"

An instant wave of guilt washed over her – of course he wasn't in the position to veto Board decisions. A tense moment followed as Rory didn't speak. This was their first argument (apart from the slurred, drunken words she hurled at him at Richards wake) and it stung.

Rationally, she understood why the Board wanted gap-toothed, accessible Gemma generating press, but emotionally it hurt. She was just a girl, too! And besides, this was supposed to be their first trip. Her first trip with a guy who maybe really kind of liked her.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I don't want to fight."

A half-smile captured Logan's face. Rory was all sweetness and light now and it made it very easy to forget the death glare she was giving him just moments before.

"Me neither. I am so sorry, Ace. I know this was supposed to be our trip – I wanted it to be our trip," he told her.

"I know," Rory nodded, letting her rational side take over. "It is what it is."

Logan nodded. "I know."

Rory let herself fall on the armchair next to the couch and watched as Logan continued to pack. "I can't believe they picked Gemma!"

He looked up and shot her a curious look. "I thought you two were friends?"

"It's a relative term."

He shook his head, chuckling, knowing full-well that the likes of Gemma could never be "real" friends with Rory. They were a different class and as much as Rory fancied herself a normal girl she wasn't and really did not want to be. His mind briefly went back to the first time he saw her. Eyes covered by bug-eyed shades and toting that damn Birkin.

"Well, if I'd have to give this opportunity to anyone other than you, it'd be her."

"Really?" Rory was shocked. Why did he say that? What did that mean?

"She's competent," Logan shrugged. "Compared to the other people in class…"

"And gap-toothed!" Rory scoffed.

He shot her a confused look. "And well-spoken…"

"Like anyone is going to listen to her, they'll be too busy staring at her frizzy hair."

"She's a quick learner…"

"and a bad dresser and psycho!"

"Ace!" Logan was shocked. Where was this coming from? Gemma was a bright, personable girl. Any other day, Rory would agree. And then it hit him: Rory Gilmore was jealous.

"What?" Rory shrugged innocently.

"You're jealous," he told her matter-of-factly.

Rory took offense. "Am not!"

"Are to!" Logan shot back.

"No, I'm not!"

Logan shot her a disbelieving look. Oh, she was certainly jealous. And he couldn't help but find that endearing. This evened out the score. It meant she cared about him and that was reassuring because he'd been jealous of Nicholas. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one.

"Maybe a little," Rory gave in with a huff. "It's just that Gemma mentioned that, well, that, she thinks that you're, um, attractive."

Attractive might not have been the exact words Gemma had used, but really she had no desire to tell Logan that Gemma thought of Logan as "sex-on-a-stick."

This was intriguing news for Logan. Not so much the "attractive" part, because he was used to girls finding him attractive, but the girl-talk spiked his attention. "You've talked about me?"

"She talked and I listened," Rory clarified, "and don't look so surprised! We are friends!"

"Oh, so you are friends now!"

Great. So now she was being mocked. As if she hadn't been humiliated enough today.

"Oh Ace," Logan said as he caught the look in her eye. And Rory noticed he was giving her that look – the one that made her feel like she was gasping for air and her palms sweat.

"Do you really think Gemma will put the moves on me?" And before Rory had the chance to respond, he continued, "Do you think _I'd _let her put the moves on me?"

"No?" she answered hesitantly, feeling a little embarrassed by her sudden and overwhelming jealousy.

"No," he answered firmly, reassuringly "Don't worry, Ace…"

"…We'll get our date?" she asked, a tiny smile playing at her lips.

"We'll get our date."

* * *

**So you didn't think I'd actually let them get their date right away, right? Review if you are excited about the next chapter! **


	19. Round Nineteen: In Worse Times

**You know how Grey's Anatomy does those epic multi part episodes? In no way is this writing related to Grey's (or epic haha) but the 3 part arc inspired me. And if I told you that the last chapter was the first part of this arc how excited/upset would you be? **

**Hope you like! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own GG. **

* * *

Instead of little black dresses, romantic dinners in Nice, and Logan, Rory got sweat pants, Chinese food and Finn.

He was recovering from a not completely broken, but severely bruised heart and Rory was suffering from a battered ego and nagging feeling that the other shoe was about to drop.

How could it not? Logan and Gemma in Paris equaled trouble. Even though Logan had reassured her plenty before he left Rory knew that Gemma would try to chat up Logan. As the self-proclaimed president of the Logan fan club – how could she not?

Those thoughts floated in and out of Rory's mind as she lay on the couch, head resting on Finn's lap, legs stretched out, and her feet dangling over the arm rest. Finn was still eating from his carton of Chinese food, while Rory had traded in her box for her cell phone. Periodically, she'd pop it open to see if she'd gotten any new messages and then shut it in disappointment.

Suddenly, she felt Finn's hand brush over her head. She looked up. "Love, do you think Smith and Samantha will get back together?"

For a split second, Rory had no clue what he was talking about and then she remembered they were watching Sex and the City 2 – an advanced copy of the DVD specially ordered since neither had felt like getting dressed to go to the movies. "What?" she asked, still confused.

"Smith got her those tickets for the premiere. No man would do that for a woman he didn't want to have sex with."

A small smile tugged at Rory's lips – Finn had a point. And Smith was definitely one of the films most attractive features. "Turn it back on," she gestured, "we'll find out." She snapped open her phone, before closing it again.

"That's the thing," Finn sighed, "I can't – not with all the phone snapping you've been doing!"

Rory was about to deny, but she looked down and saw that she was in the process of flipping open her phone. Apparently for this millionth time this evening. She shot him an apologetic smile – she didn't want to be this girl, but she couldn't help it. "He said he'd call."

"Right," Finn nodded understandingly. It was clear the "he" in this situation was Logan. Neither Rory nor Logan had ever confided in Finn about anything pertaining to the possibility of a relationship, but there was a silent understanding among the three of them that there was a (possibility of) Logan-and-Rory.

"He'll call," Finn told her reassuringly. "He just has business to attend to first."

"But it's 9:45!"

"Rory, you know these HPG meetings are marathons, not sprints…" Absentminded, she grabbed the heart shaped charm on her silver necklace and swirled it around a few times as she pondered what Finn was saying.

"They have probably reached the celebratory dinner portion of the evening," Rory said, strings of doubt lacing her tone. "But he still could've texted."

"Maybe he didn't want someone peaking over his shoulder," Finn said.

Immediately images of a champagne-sipping (and therefore, possibly, grope-y) Gemma filled her mind.

_That bitch._

Finn laughed at Rory's deep-in-thought contorted face, before gently taking the cell from her hands and replacing it with a glass of white wine. "Let's just relax and watch the movie, okay?"

* * *

Logan hated the way the French did business. The cheek-kissing, the protocol, the way every last detail had to be discussed at length. It was torture for the fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kind of business man that he was. It probably didn't help negotiations that Gemma was not sophisticated in the way she dressed (above the knee skirt), acted (kissing the CEO of Le Monde on the cheek - a privilege reserved for close friends), or spoke (in her funny English accent, seeing that she couldn't speak French).

The HPG prodigy sat there wide-eyed and grinning through the entire meeting. And it was obvious that the French were unimpressed by this "prodigy".

Oh, how he wished Rory was there right now. She would smooth over this business deal in a second. She'd "bonjour, monsieur" and smile and be able to hold her own in debates about the finer points of the contract. That's what he should've told Westville instead of shrugging and going along with the decision to send Gemma instead. It was clear that Rory was better qualified. It had nothing to do with whatever personal feelings he harbored towards her – and besides – as if the Board had time to muddle with his personal life.

But he was scared. Basically, that's what it boiled down to. He wanted Nice and Rory, but he knew it'd be serious right away. No more fucking around. Although that was something he'd been coming around to, he couldn't help but wonder about what would happen after. They'd been building up to this moment for so, so long – what if it disappointed?

The Board's proposition offered him a way out. So he took it and now he regretted it. It was 10:00 pm, he hadn't had a chance to call Rory yet; he's here is with Gemma, listening to the French ramble on about the stipulations of the contract and they still had pages to go…

* * *

"Well, this one we can add to the Must Watch to Mock List," Finn said as the end credits started to roll.

"Really, I though you'd like the bra-less nanny?" Rory laughed as she topped off her glass of wine. "You want some more?" she asked, pointing the wine bottle at him.

He nodded and she started pouring. "Bra-less nanny is not a red-head, Rory."

"Oh, that's right," she took a sip, "you've got standards."

"I'd like to think so." He waited a beat for Rory's comeback, but she didn't make one, seeing as her gaze was fixed on her phone.

"Still no message?"

The three or four glasses of white wine she consumed made it difficult for her to hide her disappointment. Not seeing that stupid yellow envelope in the corner of her screen hurt and stung. As if she hadn't been rejected enough by HPG, Logan needed to rub it in a little more.

"Nope."

"Well, I'm sure he's just busy with business-y things," Finn said, trying to sound peppy and upbeat but he knew just as well as Rory that he was failing miserably.

"Probably," Rory shrugged her shoulders; she appreciated Finn's peppiness. "So, no intriguing messages on your phone, either?"

A laugh escaped Finn. "Very smooth, love, diverting the conversation like that."

Rory cocked her head to the side, feigning ignorance. "Well, are there?"

"Just because you are depressed, I'll divulge," Finn told her and Rory giddily clapped her hands. "So, do tell."

He sighed dramatically. "There's nothing to tell, love. I think I was way too honest with her."

"Victoria?"

"Victoria," Finn nodded solemnly, "Beautiful, could have been perfect Victoria."

Rory nodded understandingly, after all she knew the pain. "What happened?"

Finn took a sip of his wine and winced. "I told her she and I were like a Taylor Swift song…"

"Please not an angry at a Jonas song…" Rory muttered, knowing that'd be bad.

"No, love," he shot her a crazy look. How in the world would that be a grand romantic gesture? "I had written the lyrics to "Our Song" on a napkin."

Rory dropped her head – it was romantic, if that was your thing – but it was much too much, far too soon. "Oh, Finn," she sighed, "How long…?"

"Just a week!" Finn exclaimed, "but what does that matter?" He was genuinely confused and added softly, "I loved her!"

Rory loved how intense Finn was. Fast with his heart. Despite his tragic romantic history, he was still so hopeful and optimistic; a stark contrast to her cynical self. She scooted a little closer to him and wrapped him in a hug. "I know, Finn, I know."

The two sat there in silence for a few moments, each pondering the sad state of their love lives, until the buzz of Rory's phone sliced through the room.

"A text!" Finn was excited and Rory couldn't deny the little flutter in her stomach. She feverishly hoped it was Logan. Hell, he could even throw in some Swift lyrics – she'd appreciate that. But, to her surprise it was a text from Nicholas.

"_I was the supportive friend this afternoon, but Gemma is in Paris and I'm drinking alone. Join me?"_

"Oh, bugger," Finn shook his head, but Rory ignored him, realizing that there was some truth in what Nick sent her. Her she was, sitting at home, in her sweat pants, drinking white wine and waiting by her phone. And for what?

For some boy – not boyfriend – who maybe, possibly liked her and who promised to call but proved to be exceptionally bad at the follow up. He couldn't even be bothered to send a text. Even though he said he would. Even though she was supposed to be in Paris right now.

And sure, it was out of Logan's hands and he was sorry and all that. But how sorry was he, really? He rolled over for the Board, he had no problem picking up Gemma in the company car, he waltzed out of the door without a care in the world. Maybe he didn't like her that much after all. Or, maybe, calling was just a really hard thing to do with Gemma's tongue shoved down his throat.

There was no hard proof, but the not-calling was enough to plant doubt in her mind. She'd been humiliated like that once before and she sure as hell wasn't going to stick around to witness it again.

"Finn, I'm thinking we should go out," Rory said finally, a tiny buzz of excitement flitting through her – it been forever since she'd gone out.

"I don't know, love, I've got my comfy sweats on…"

Rory laughed, "Oh come one, Finn. What's the worst that can happen? Cocktail napkins are too small to write lyrics on! Just enough room for phone numbers…"

A smile tugged at her lips as Finn slowly came round to the idea. "Well, It's been a while since I've gotten chatted up at the pub. And this Nick fellow might be a good wingman..."

"This is what I'm saying," Rory said with a sly smile. "Give me 30 minutes to get ready."

* * *

"I believe this meeting has been most successful, wouldn't you agree Monsieur Huntzberger?"

The room fell quiet as everyone waited for Logan to answer, but he was too wrapped up in his thoughts to respond. He felt a delicate finger brush over his forearm.

Gemma.

With a soft smile gracing her face, she cocked her head to the left.

"Oh," he exclaimed, slipping right back into business mode. "Absolutely, Monsieur Corbin, I'm very excited to start this venture with you all."

Corbin shot Logan an unimpressed look, closed the meeting and with that everyone started to shuffle out of the room.

"Nice save," Gemma laughed, "Real slick."

He turned to her, his smirk in place. "That how I got to be on top."

She bit down on her lip, letting the obvious and oh-so-easy-to-make comment slip, before pushing her lips into a flirty smile. "Really, I thought it was your Dad?"

Logan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Talk about overstepping boundaries, but he was late and he was in no mood to argue.

"You're well informed," he quipped.

"I try – that's how _I_ got to be on top, of the Future Writers, at least," she said through a smile. That wasn't entirely true, but Logan didn't care enough to tell her the truth.

He chuckled instead and suddenly he realized that he was starving. "Do you want to get some dinner?"

* * *

It'd been a while since Rory had properly gone out. She'd tried her damndest to shed that image – appear all practically perfect and if today proved anything, that clearly was not working out for her. She was young and free and she deserved a little fun.

Problem was, as she stopped her partying ways, her wardrobe became more conservative. Shift dresses and knee-length skirts aplenty, but nothing that was acceptable to wear to whatever middle-class bar Nick was holed up in. Maybe her black YSL kimono tunic could pass as a very, very short dress?

She sized it up in front of the mirror. Why, yes, yes it could. Especially teamed with fishnets and boots

Feeling good about her decision – going out, dolling up, not waiting for Logan – she decided she needed some tunes to punctuate the evening. She scrolled passed her perfectly acceptable top 40 music on her IPod to her old party music playlist.

As electronic beats blasted into her ears, she sipped her wine and got ready. A sweep of grey eye shadow, thick kohl lining her eyes, double coats of mascara. Red-stained lips. Perfume and hairspray fumes filled the air. The slightest buzz in her brain. It was a familiar feeling; comfortable even. God, how she'd missed it.

Finn was speechless as she emerged from her room some 30 minutes later. It was a certain change from her typical good-girl wardrobe, but it was much more decent than what she used to wear. In fact, Rory quiet liked her thigh-skimming kimono with over-the-knee boots. Hell, her hair was even done up in chic wrap around bun.

"You realize it's not a fashion show, love?" he said, feeling overwhelmingly underdressed in his khakis and burgundy polo.

"You never know who you're going to meet," Rory said as she let her credit card, cell, and house key drop into the shaft of her boot, like a club-going pro.

His shoulders pulled into an agreeing shrug, before he downed the last sip of his wine. "Marvelous creature," he muttered to himself and the pair left the house.

* * *

"What's open at this hour, anyway?" Gemma asked as they hit the streets of Paris.

It was 10:45 and the choice – despite being in a metropolitan city – was limited. "Probably McDonalds and the Ritz Carlton," Logan said half-jokingly. The restaurant at the Ritz may have closed for the general public, but Logan knew it'd always be open for him. Especially since it was where he was staying.

"The Ritz?" Gemma's eyes lit up in surprise. "I've always wanted to go there."

Logan nodded – of courseGemma wanted to go there. Rory would've been more than happy to sink her teeth into a Big Mac, though he probably have to comprise by getting her Burger King fries. He smiled at the thought, though he didn't notice that Gemma's smile grew as well.

The Ritz was fine by him. Besides, he hadn't been the best travel partner to Gemma and it was obvious that this would make her happy. "Well, the Ritz it is, then."

About 50 heads turned as Rory and Finn entered the old pub. Apparently, kimonos and boots were very appropriate partying attire as she felt eyes of all sorts of men on her. And she knew that all of the women were shamelessly ogling Finn.

"Maybe tonight I'll leave my red-head policy at the door, love" Finn whispered in her ear. Rory laughed, "Why limit yourself?"

Soon, she spotted Nicholas at the bar. He was dressed like she expected – loafers (no socks), khakis and a blue and white checkered shirt. It screamed "upper middle class" and was desperate. Rory turned her disapproving scowl into a desperately fake smile as she approached him. "Nicholas, darling!"

He couldn't hide his surprise. Perfect, conservative Rory Gilmore stood before him dressed like… _that. _

"I brought my friend Finn," Rory leaned in closely to ensure Nicholas could hear her. "Finn's looking to get lucky tonight."

Nicholas grinned mischievously. Did that apply to Rory, too? "That's splendid," he nodded slowly, letting his eyes take in every bit of her form. "I think I dropped something on the floor…"

"What?" she asked confused.

"My jaw!" he laughed, "you look amazing, Rory. Let me buy you a drink."

Rory nodded unfazed at his lame pick-up attempt. Nicholas could try to charm her with a cheesy line as long as he'd buy her a drink.

"I'll have a beer."

"Really love?" Finn asked, dropping his hand on her shoulder.

"Beer is fitting of the venue," she said whispering in his ear. He smirked and ordered the same.

"So," Nick drew out as he leaned closer to Rory on the bar, "anyone out there for you, Finn?"

"I'm observing the prospects," Finn replied, "how 'bout yourself?"

"I'm fine right here," Nick replied as he clenched his beer bottle tightly.

Rory sipped her beer as she continued to listen to Nicholas and Finn exchange digs. Nicholas had no reason to get all possessive; Finn was her friend, for one, and more importantly, she wasn't interested in Nick. Her liked her. She knew that this middle-class loser boy liked her from the beginning he laid eyes on her. He most likely wanted to fuck her, like most men in this room.

One look and she could have anyone in this room – it wasn't cocky, it was a fact - but she didn't want these sleaze balls and she certainly didn't want Nick. And it wasn't that she was morally against being with middle-class loser boys that liked her. But Nick would think it'd meant something and he'd get all involved. He'd be possessive and clingy and his true gold-digger nature would shine through as soon as he heard about her last names.

And she was over involvement and definitely if it involved gold-diggers. She was just over it; she was done. She tried… she tried so hard to be good enough for Logan, good enough to be a Future Writer. She tried living with her last names, she tried living without them. She tried, but her best wasn't good enough. And what was the point?

Tristan cheated.

All evidence pointed to Logan cheating at this very moment.

With Gemma.

And Richard was dead.

Her mind was always on overdrive, always filled to the brim with thoughts, hypotheses, what if's, should-haves, would-haves, could-haves, and maybes. Tonight, she wanted not to think. Tonight she just wanted to be.

"I want to go dancing," Rory announced, bringing conversation between Nick and Finn to a halt.

"You just got here!" Nick exclaimed, but Finn was more accommodating. "I think Bungalow 8 should be getting good about now."

A bright smile flashed across Rory's face. Why hadn't she thought of that? But Nick was none too pleased. "You have a membership to Bungalow 8?"

"Most everyone does, mate," Finn shrugged as if it weren't a big deal. "We could go to Whiskey Mist, too…"

"…but the music is better at the Bungalow," Rory finished his thought.

"And those boots," Finn patted her thigh, "were made for dancing!"

Rory laughed loudly. "You know it, Finn. Let's go," she said resolutely.

"But…" Nick sputtered, stunned as to what was happening, and grabbed Rory's hand. "I thought…"

"…oh, so very, very wrong," Rory interjected unapologetically. "If you thought you and I could ever be something you are sadly mistaken, Nicholas."

His eyes widened in pure shock – what just happened here? He had no time to ask, as Rory turned on her heel and Finn lead her out of the bar.

"Rory!" he called out after her.

"Don't follow me! Goodbye Nicholas," she shouted as she exited the bar.

"That was very cruel of you, love," Finn said as the two of them walked along the London streets.

"No, it was honest," Rory countered with a grin, "I mean, Nicholas?" She scrunched up her nose in disgust and Finn laughed. "Alright, point made. So, Bungalow?"

"Seems like a perfect venue to continue this evening."

* * *

"Oh Logan," Gemma gushed, "It's so fancy here." Her eyes dropped and she plucked at her blouse. "Are you sure I'm dressed alright?"

He stopped walking and turned to her, running his eyes up and down her body. She was clad in an above the knee black pencil skit, which looked much shorter because she was strutting around in 5 inch heels. Her blouse was too tight and probably a little too open, especially since she wasn't wearing a jacket. Her hair was curly and loose around her shoulders, and was nice, but probably – for the Ritz – should've been pinned up.

He was a Huntzberger, Gemma was his guest. The Ritz had to comply. No questions asked. Logan nodded and shot her an approving smile. "You look great, Gemma."

The maître d was not too pleased with his late guests, but lead them to a table immediately. If Logan had been trying to impress Gemma, it was working. "Are you sure the kitchen's open?" she asked confused as the waiter helped her to her seat.

"Oh yeah," Logan nodded, though as he looked around, he noticed that the restaurant was nearly empty. If it'd been just him, he'd order room service and call it a night. "I eat late like this all the time. They know me here."

"Wow," Gemma's eyes popped open and she nervously took a sip of her water. "In that case, I'm sure you know what's good?" she asked coyly as she flipped open her menu.

"Anything you get is going to be good…"

"Well, right, it's the Ritz obviously!" she said, excitement lacing her tone. "But I meant what would you recommend?"

Logan did not hear the flirty undertones or spot the twinkle in her eye. He was busy examining the menu figuring out the quickest way to eat some dinner.

"You like fish?" he asked her and she nodded, making sure to fix her eyes on him. "Very much so."

His eyes darted back to the menu. "I'd probably go with the Salmon Carpaccio as a starter and the Clam Linguine as a main."

"Carpaccio, wasn't that meat?" she asked as she ran a hand through her blond curls. With that type of behavior, Logan supposed it was better that the restaurant was nearly empty.

"It can be," he explained patiently, "but it actually just refers to the cutting technique – that its thinly sliced."

"Oh right," Gemma nodded. "Funny that you never stop being a teacher."

His mouth pulled into a half-smile and he cast his eyes down to his menu. This time he had picked up on her advances. And now, with the almost-private dinner at the Ritz and the special treatment. Nothing really good could come of this.

In an effort to hurry up the dinner, Logan also ordered the Salmon and Linguine and did his best to keep the conversation neutral. They talked about her experiences as a Future Writer, they talked about Paris, but Gemma had a knack to add innuendos to everything. Quite a remarkable talent had it not been for the fact that he was in no mood for this. He thought Rory's jealously was cute, but he never realized how truthful she was being.

As dessert came around – 2 chocolate mousses – he felt Gemma's foot on his leg. He didn't say anything, but shifted his leg under the table. Conversation carried on as if there hadn't been foot-to-leg contact, but within the next few minutes Gemma's foot was there again and now it was running up and down Logan's leg.

So much for subtlety.

Logan coughed and Gemma's removed her foot. He took a sip of his wine before he looked up and met her expectant (not apologetic!) eyes.

"I can't, Gemma."

"What do you mean?" she asked, running a strand of hair around her finger.

"I'm – you are a student," he reminded her firmly and she let go of her hair and leaned in closely.

"So?"

The two sat at the table, eyes locked, tension building.

There was no denying it; she was a pretty girl. Big blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and despite what Rory said, the gap-tooth was cute and her blond curls sexy. And any other day he'd agree with her. So what?

He typically made a rule to sleep with females of his standing, but he'd kind of exhausted his supply. And Gemma looked like fun. But tonight…tonight was different. Maybe it was the way she made herself so available to him or how easy she propositioned the "so?" He couldn't put his finger on it, but it was decidedly not sexy. In fact, it was infuriating.

So? He wanted to shout at her. There's a million reasons, chief among them a beautiful girl named Rory.

But he didn't shout, he simply looked her in the eyes. "I can't."

"But no one has to know, Logan," she tried again.

That was true. No one, not even Rory, had to know. But he didn't want to.

He didn't want to. Not with Gemma.

As soon as that realization dawned on him, he felt an immense relief. Screwing around with available girls was no longer a want – even when they were right there. Sure, the thought briefly flitted through his mind, but he had no psychical desire to pursue it. He wanted Rory. Only Rory.

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "I'm sorry, Gemma, but I don't want to."

"You don't want to?" she scoffed; obviously insulted by Logan's enthusiasm in turning her down.

"I'm sorry if you might have gotten that impression, but no, I really don't want to."

Gemma blinked a few times, picking up her wine glass - it was empty - before putting it down. "But what about the Ritz? You made them stay open for us?"

"Because I was hungry. You were hungry. We had the long meeting. We needed to eat," he explained as if it was obvious.

Clearly, this was not the outcome Gemma expected. "That's all?" she asked in confusion.

Logan nodded, absolute certainty written on his face. "That's all."

Gemma looked like someone had told her that all the kittens in the world drowned and for a brief second Logan felt bad for the girl; she was the first girl in history to get shot down by Logan Huntzberger.

"You know what? You are a great girl and before I probably would have… but…"

Gemma looked up, already knowing the answer. "There's someone else? Some girl who's managed to tame you?"

A loud laugh escaped him and he nodded. "It sure does seem that way."

* * *

Rory had always liked clubs. Especially exclusive clubs. The complimentary shot of whiskey helped her get into the party mood right away. But even in the run-of-the-mill venues she frequented in her youth, she always had a good time. Maybe it was the thump, thump, thump of the bass that muted her thoughts. Or maybe that people didn't care – everyone was just there to have a good time.

She and Finn made a beeline for the bar. Finn was right – it was getting good. The club was just about at maximum capacity, the DJ's electronic beats were pounding through the club and the gin-and-juice Finn presented her was literally the best drink ever. A French guy asked her to dance, but she ignored him. French was not needed tonight. And Finn saved her with another gin-and-juice.

"You're popular," she told him after taking a sip.

"How so?" he asked, swirling around the scotch in his tumbler.

Rory tipped her head, pointing at the far side of the bar. "Scottish red-head over there."

Finn smiled at the pretty red-head at the end of the bar. "How'd you know she's Scottish?"

"Lucky guess," she muttered. "Scotland has the highest concentration of red-heads," she said waving this fact away. She didn't want to be the smart one tonight. "Go on. Have fun. Play nice. I'm going to dance."

"Are you sure?"

Rory nodded, tipping her cocktail glass at him, shooting him a smile before she stomped, stomped, stomped her way towards the dance-floor. The sea of people parted to let her in. At first, her stomps and arm sways were restrained, polite, kind of civil dancing. She made sure her beverage stayed in its glass but soon it was finished and she passed it off it to someone else.

The DJ switched up tunes. Immediately she recognized the du-du-doop of La Roux' Bulletproof.

It was fitting. Her stomping became wilder, primitive. Pounding her heels into the shiny metallic floor was her sole purpose. Her torso turned and swayed in time with the rhythm of the music as if she was in a cage and trying to break free. Her fists hit the air, punching her demons.

She danced away the doubt Logan planted in her mind, she danced away Nick's stupid come-ons, she danced away her disappointment about failing FTF. She danced away Tristan, she danced away thoughts about her Grandpa.

_I'm having fun, don't put me down._

Rory felt a pair of strong hands on her hips and she automatically began grinding her rear into whoever was behind her. The unidentified hands took hers and raised them towards the sky. Rory scooted back a little closer, pushing her body against this stranger's. Together, their feet pounded the floor, their hands punched the sky and her back to his chest moved as one. Together, they were lost in the music and Rory did not want it to end, but eventually, La Roux faded into Cobra Starship and Rory jumped around to meet her dancer.

He was – through her gin-and-juicy eyes – perfection. Olive-toned skin, perfect rings of dark curls, dark eyebrows framing his glistening green eyes and a killer smile. She couldn't resist and smiled back.

He was a play-boy, obviously and maybe a good-boy, but probably not. But that smile. Well, for that smile, she'd dance with him. He was probably Greek, or Italian maybe. Rory fancied him an oil heir; certainly not a newspaper heir and that was all that mattered.

As the chorus kicked in, she jumped up high, shaking her hair all around as she went. He grabbed at her hips, pulling her closer to him. If she had just flashed the club, she didn't care. This Greek God was here and they were dancing, dancing, dancing through mixes of music.

The DJ eventually slowed it down with Madonna's 4 minutes and all suave, he gestured at the bar. She nodded, seeing that she was parched. His hand dropped to the small of her back, before cupping her ass. Rory let her hand slip into the back pocket of his khakis. He looked at her and she flashed him a big grin.

At the bar Rory glanced around, but couldn't find Finn. She couldn't be bothered to look for him, or worry about him what with the Greek God staring at her. He handed her a tequila shot and took one for himself. It'd been a long time since she'd done a shot, but she hadn't forgotten the specifics.

She kept her eyes locked on him as she licked the skin between her thumb and index finger. Instead of sprinkling the salt on herself, she held out her hand to him and he did he honors. Rory took the wedge of lime from the small bowl that topped her shot glass, licked the salt from her hand and downed her shot. She bit down on the wedge of lime as the tequila quickly burned through her body. Savoring it for a moment, she bobbed her head to the beat of the music, before taking the wedge out of her mouth and gesturing that is was Greek's turn.

He pointed at his shot, at the salt, and the lime, as if he was a magician about to do a trick. Rory laughed. Greek was a cute drunk. Or maybe she was a cute drunk. Or maybe he just really liked tequila. It didn't matter. She watched as he downed his shot and Rory clapped. Very cute. Pleased, he ordered another round of tequila.

This time, though, he held out his hand and Rory took it, taking a moment to observe how perfectly tan it was, before running her tongue from his knuckle to wrist. His green eyes glazed over in lust as she sprinkled on the salt. Greek then took the shot glass as if he were about to down it, but handed it to Rory instead.

She smirked and proceeded to run her tongue across his hand for the second time. The shot burned in her throat, but tasted better. A small laugh escaped her as she realized that she had always liked Greek food.

He grabbed Rory's hand and ran his tongue over his lips, but she pulled away, using her hand to push the hair away from her neck. Greek looked at her, perhaps asking for permission, and Rory nodded.

She and Greek had drunken chemistry and it'd be a shame to waste it. He agreed and slowly, sensually, pulled her closer, kissing her neck softly before licking it. It tickled and they laughed and he might have pressed another small kiss against her neck. She couldn't tell.

Salt, his tongue dancing down her neck, the shot, the burn, the lime and his tongue found its way back to her neck. The licking was now kissing and slowly he moved from her neck, to her mouth.

Those gorgeous Greek lips on hers, the tequila in her blood, the thump, thump, thump of the bass through her body. Her lips parted and as his tongue dipped in she felt a total disconnect from her brain, her body. All the noise that flooded her head was gone. For all she was concerned the room was white, quiet, and empty. It was just her and the Greek. But mostly, just her.

Flat-lined, floating, being.

Until she remembered Greek. He was a good kisser. Maybe the best. She didn't know; she didn't care. It was nice. He was nice. La Roux pounded around in her brain. _I'll never let you sweep me off my feet._

No, no, no, her drunk self muttered. No feet-sweeping tonight. Greek was fun. She remembered that concept, didn't she? Yes, yes, she did.

Rory broke off the kiss and gestured for more shots. And ogled him as she waited for their drinks. Alcohol was supposed to numb, but she felt more tonight than she had in a long while. Maybe it was becuse Greek had enough skin exposed – two tan arms, two strong hands, and one gorgeous neck – to do plenty of shots. It was obivous he thought the same as his eyes remained fixed to Rory's.

_I'm not turned on to love until it's cheap_. La Roux drilled in her skull.

It's not cheap, she drunkenly argued with herself. And she stood up from her bar stool – maybe to prove just how much fun it was - and fell into Greek's arms.

He smiled at her. Blinding. And Rory noted he smelt good, before she pushed herself up on her tippy toes to reach his gorgeous neck.

Her tongue drew a sloppy line across his neck. She was so sexy. He was so sexy. Together they'd burn in this club. Together they'd drown out the noise. Together they'd be.

Salt. Tequila. A sweet, sweet, burn. His touch almost melted her. Another kiss. Thump, thump, thump.

Her heart?

No, it was the music.

His eyes locked to hers.

And her breath hitched.

The only reasonable thing to do?

Another shot.

* * *

It was 3:00 a.m. and Logan was wide awake in his Parisian hotel room. The dinner with Gemma was disastrous for, well, Gemma, but had been a real eye-opener for him and currently the reason why he lay awake.

Rory was right, Gemma wanted him. And Rory's jealousness indicated – on some deep level – that Rory really wanted to be with him.

And honestly, at first that kind of freaked him out – it always had. Sure, he was the one who proposed Nice and all, but he hadn't been sure if he was quite ready for the seriousness that was sure to follow.

But now he knew.

He and Rory were something whether he liked it or not. There was Gemma and he had no problem turning her down. Right there, gap-toothed and curly-haired was his possibility to fuck this up and he took the pass.

This was excellent, thrilling news. News he really only wanted to share with Rory. His business here was finished; they were supposed to fly back at 10:00 am, but he really had no desire to eat room service breakfast and fly back on the corporate jet.

He wanted to go home. He needed to go home.

A quick phone call down car service and his vehicle was arranged. He'd just drive. It was just five and a half hours. And really, what's five and a half hours to see the person you love?

With love on the brain, he set off towards London. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this happy. There was no traffic, The Kooks blasting on the radio, their sweet music urging him to go faster.

At this rate, he'd be home for breakfast.

* * *

**Oh, Logan. Oh, Rory. And what happened to Finn? **

**Honestly, I don't know why I weave these incredibly tangled webs, but I do. And drama will ensue (how could it not?) It will be resolved. I cannot say when or how but I will fix this. **

**Meanwhile, review if you: **

**1. did not expect Rory to go back to Old Partying Rory and be the one to mess it up **

**2. did not expect Logan to have an epiphany and turn down Gemma. **

**3. thought Rory and Finn would hook up (never, ever, would I write that. I've read the occasional Finn/Rory fiction and I like it but I could never write them like that. At least not in this story.) **

**4. think it'll be a really long time until Rory and Logan will get their date. **

**Also, two totally unrelated things: I recently discovered Florence & the Machine and it's amazing! I have to go to school on Thursday to defend my thesis and after that I find out if I graduate! EEK! **

**Anyway, to end this obnoxiously long AN I just want to say thanks! For everything basically. I've got the best readers :) **


	20. Round Twenty: In Worst Times

_Remember way back in, like chapter 5, I said that I was taking the story in a different direction than I originally planned? _

_It was for this for this chapter. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own GG. _

* * *

Logan couldn't wait to get home and tell Rory everything. About how he let Westville talk him out of Rory and into Gemma for the Paris trip; how he allowed it because he was scared of the commitment their date implied. He wanted to tell her that he should've fought harder for her (for them?) and about how right Rory was that Gemma would try something and - more importantly - how surprisingly easy it was for him to turn her down. Above all, he wanted to tell her that he was sorry and that he was ready now.

Really ready.

Somewhere in the car-train between Calais and Dover he realized that he'd have a lot apologizing to do. Obviously and understandably Rory was mad at him. Not just at their date falling through, but at how he handled the whole situation. His insecurities played a part in preventing her from receiving the recognition she deserved. Sure, maybe Westville would've still gone with Gemma, but at least Logan would've been on Rory's side. And instead of offering her a warning that their plans fell through, he let her walk into that hotel ballroom with false hope, leaving her humiliated. He couldn't even be supportive or apologetic at home. No, he simply laughed off her worries about Gemma. The final blow came when he promised to call and didn't.

Still, Logan was hopeful that if he got the chance to explain, Rory would understand, especially if he provided her a home-cooked breakfast.

Finally, at 8:45 in the morning, after a night of driving and a quick stop at the market, Logan entered the apartment. Feeling content with his purchases (fresh eggs, crusty bread, sausages, tomatoes and a can of baked beans) and confident that a full English breakfast was exactly what Rory needed, he rounded the corner and stopped short at the kitchen door, stunned at the scene that unfolded before him.

Rory, dressed in an ambiguous black garment (he couldn't tell if it was a negligee, a silk top, or a dress), was leaning against the counter, a half-empty bottle of rum open next to her, with a row of shot glasses filled and lined up before her. He also noticed the sugar jar open in front of her and a plate of orange wedges next to her. She hugged a legal pad and – apparently deep in thought – exchanged meaningful glances at the bar she'd created and mumbled to herself.

To say Logan was concerned was an understatement.

"Rory?" he asked as he stepped in to the kitchen and placed his bag of groceries on the counter. "Are you okay?"

She looked up. "Looooogan! You came back!"

"I did, Ace."

Rory blinked a few times and a goofy smile appeared on her face. "Oh, you called me Ace! That's so sweet!" Before he got a chance to reply, her smile made place for a frown and her forehead creased.

"But you can't call me Ace," she bit at him.

"Uh, okay," he tried to shoot her a reassuring smile, "I won't call you Ace."

Her cold eyes stayed on him for a brief moment before she dropped them to her legal pad. "Thank you."

It was clear that Rory was not well. Drunk and angry was a bad combination for anybody, but especially Rory. Logan knew from experience; though this time the damage was not caused by Richard's death and an excessive amount of G&T's. An uneasy feeling came over him – had he done this to her?

"Rory?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"What?" Her tone wasn't quite as harsh as before, but it was obvious she was not in the mood for small-talk. In fact, she looked quite concerned herself as she kept exchanging looks between her legal pad and line of rum-shots.

"What happened?"

An agitated, sloppy sigh escaped her and she tried to blow a stray hair from her forehead before talking. "If you give me a minute… I can figure it out."

Logan watched in shock as Rory proceeded to raise her left hand to her mouth and press her tongue against it – too tired and too drunk to actually lick it – before dipping her entire hand in the sugar jar. She didn't bother to shake off the excess as she brought her hand back up to her face and moved her tongue across her hand. With a quick flick of the wrist, she downed one of the shots in line and bit down on an orange slice.

She didn't shutter or gag, like he expected – she smirked like an old pro – before scribbling something on her legal pad. What? Was she conducting a study on variations of a tequila shot?

"Rory?" The concern was now all but tangible in his tone, though not to Rory. With a heavy sigh, she put down her pen and turned to him. She almost lost her balance in the turn, but laughed it off as she quickly found that leaning backwards against the counter helped her remain upright.

"I am retracing my steps, Logan." She spoke slowly and over-annunciated every word, but for a girl who'd done a massive amount of shots, she sounded surprisingly sober.

Logan nodded as if he understood, but he had no clue what she was trying to say.

"I need to know what happened, 'cause…" Rory made some vague gesture with her hand, "… and last night involved tequila…" She kissed some sugar off the back of her hand, before tipping back another shot.

"That's not tequila," Logan told her. "Or salt."

"Sweet salt," she nodded in some kind of agreement, before trying to make eye-contact with him. "You, Logan," she pointed at him, "only have rum. It's not good for retracing."

"There's a whole liquor cabinet in the pool room," Logan instantly regretted volunteering this information so freely as a wide, almost mischievous smile spread across her face.

"Really?" she laughed, though it wasn't really funny. Rory pushed herself off the counter, in search of the pool room, but Logan grabbed her by the wrist, stopping her.

"Hey!" Rory placed her sticky hand over his, but she did not make any effort to break free of Logan's hold. Instead she smiled at him. Flirtatiously – at least to her mind.

"Where is Finn, Rory?" he asked firmly.

It took a moment for the question to compute in her brain, but once it hit she nodded enthusiastically and raised her pointer finger, as if she was about to dive into an elaborate description of Finn's whereabouts, but in its place, she provided a more cryptic explanation. "In Scotland."

"In Scotland?" Logan shouted, "He left you?"

"I don't know!" Rory shouted back, though her tone wasn't panicked like his; it was harsh. "I'm trying to figure it out, Logan!" She tried to twist herself out of his hold, but his grip was much too strong for her drunken state. "Let me go, I need tequila. Your stupid rum is not good for step…step-retracement!"

Rory continue to wiggle, but there was no way he was letting her go. He doubted that she could stand on her own and as he took hold of her free hand, she pressed her body flush against his. She snapped back to her sexy flirty mode, settling for resting her head on his chest and humming contently.

She was a mess. A complete and total mess. And Finn could very well be in fucking Scotland. What the hell happened?

"You're not getting tequila, Rory," he told her, as he gently put some distance between them. "I'm making you coffee." He picked her up and sat her down on the counter top. "Stay here." And he spotted the legal pad – it was sticky and some of the scribbles were smudged and entirely illegible to him, but maybe it was legible to her, and it'd keep her busy as the coffee brewed.

"Why don't you read me this?" he asked kindly as he kept his eyes on her as he filled the carafe with water.

Rory's head dropped to her chest, in tired defeat. "Why?"

"To retrace the steps you were telling me about…"

Rory's head popped up, as if she suddenly remembered. "Oh, right. Well, let me see…."

She tugged at a loose strand of her hair as she thought. He kept his eyes on her, though it was very difficult for her to maintain eye contact. More because of her immense alcohol intake, not because of his intent look.

Finally, she settled her gaze on her nails and she let go of her hair as she started to talk in her slow, vaguely slurred tone. "Smith Jerrod has good abs. And he bought Samantha tickets and never fucked her. He should've because he's so hot and Samantha is so pretty. Together they'd be so…" Rory looked up as she let that thought fade away. "Logan, I'm pretty. Don't you think I'm pretty?"

A wry smile tugged at his lips. In this moment, no, he did not think she was pretty. Her otherwise glossy, curly hair, lay sticky and sweaty on her scalp. Eyes blood-shot and rimmed in mascara black. Skin pale and greasy. Alcohol on her breath and stained in her barely-there get-up. This was not the Rory Gilmore he knew, this was not a beautiful Rory Gilmore.

Logan nodded anyway and a soft chuckle passed over Rory's dry, cracked lips. "And you are pretty," she told him. "Not just your hair, but your eyes…." Her voice trailed off and her gaze dropped to the floor and she clicked her heels together. One, two, three times.

"You know who's not pretty?" she whispered.

"Who?"

"Nicholas." Logan's eyes widened in surprise – what'd that boy have to do with anything?

"He's so…" she sighed, searching for the right word. "…ugly…"

"What'd he do, Ace?" That he called her Ace, and the urgency in his tone was lost on her as she continued her ramble. "He thinks I'm pretty," her hand went to her chest to stress the fact, "But he's ugly, Logan. And the bar…was…bad. So bad. So, we danced."

The coffee was done brewing, but Logan was entirely focused on determining what role Nick played in last nights events. He moved so he was standing in front of her and gently steadied her bobbing head, so her look focused on him.

"You went dancing?" he asked slowly. "With Finn? And Nicholas?"

"No. Just Finn." Rory's hand went to her neck. "I was supposed to be bullet proof. Because of Paris…and Gemma….and Nicholas…" Logan nodded as if he understood which encouraged her to carry on. "And then, the music…loud. So loud. Louder than sirens and bells together. And it was so hot." She blinked a few times, trying to look past Logan. "He was so hot."

"Who?" Logan demanded, "Finn?"

"We were dancing and the music…it was in my fists and bones and eyelids and my neck…" Logan quickly glanced down and saw a deep purple mark on her collarbone. "… and it was salty, and it burned, and then it was quiet. So quiet." She paused and shot him a thoughtful look. "Do you like Greek food?"

Greek food! That was her main concern right now, whether or not he liked Greek food! She was beyond wasted and had a grapefruit sized hickey on her neck and he was supposed to let her know if he liked Kofta or Gyros? Logan realized, though that Rory didn't wait for him to answer.

"…there are so many boys, Logan. Hundreds. Dancing. They like me. Because I'm…pretty and…rich…you know? So, it doesn't matter…not being smart…failing."

"You are smart, Rory," he jumped in, but she didn't care. "And you…" she shook her head, "were in Paris. And I…was here. And it was so, so quiet and I was so tired. And he, Logan, he was so pretty…"

Her breathing became more erratic – as if realization was just now dawning on her – and her voice started to crack as she reached out to touch his chest. "I woke up..and he was there and, Logan, he cannot be here, because it was supposed to be you!"

Revealing this information was an obvious release for Rory as her breathing returned back to normal and her head returned to his bobbing state, but Logan was far less calm about the situation. The rest of the information she presented him faded to the background; he zeroed in on the fact that there was someone in her bed.

"Who? Rory, who was here when you woke up?" he spoke slowly hoping to keep his composure. "Finn, Nicholas?"

"No," she shook her head slowly, "I don't…know…."

Logan took a deep breath. "No, it's not Finn or Nicholas or no, I don't know?"

"Finn is in Scotland," she reminded him and he nodded, "Right, okay. Finn is in Scotland and there is a boy in your bed?"

Rory nodded and Logan was incredulous. "How'd he get there?"

She pulled her shoulders into a deep shrug and pointed at the make-shift tequila mess on the counter. "I was retracing my steps."

Logan's head dropped in defeat – the girl was a scholarly drunk – but it didn't change the fact that there was a strange boy in her bed. She might as well have punched him in the face. Head spinning, he yelled at her to stay put as he stomped off toward her bedroom.

Not a minute later, he returned, jaw-clenched and gripping a very hung-over and bed-sheet clad tanned man.

"Is this him?" Logan jerked his chin forward as he practically pushed the man at Rory, causing his bed-sheet garb to shift, exposing his modesty to her.

Rory took a moment to benefit form this as she ogled the man in all of his glory.

Greek was back!

Although, without the club lights, the bass penetrating her soul, and a wash of sticky/salty tequila, he looked different – less God-like – but his pearly white smile remained in tact.

And because the look of absolute shock and disgust and hurt on Logan's face wasn't enough of a sobering experience, Rory couldn't help but smile back. Flirtatiously. "Yeah, that's him…"

"Hey," he nodded back, a little hoarsely and Logan exchanged a disbelieving look between the two. Was this some kind of joke? Their half-assed attempt at flirting right here before him? Were they fucking kidding him?

"What's his name?" Logan barked, but Rory shrugged uncomfortably, as if she just remembered that Logan was in the room too, witnessing her staring at Greek's six-pack, "I don't quite…remember…" and her hand made its way toward the rum bottle.

"Put it down, Rory," he warned.

"Pretty name." Logan looked at the tanned man with his fuck-you eyes and the Greek bravely extended his free hand for Logan to shake. "I'm Andreas."

"Greek!" Rory exclaimed and Andreas confirmed it with a nod. A sloppy smile played at her lips as she broke out in a fit of giggles.

Logan was about to explode. Finn was gone. Rory was drunk. And making eyes at the Greek asshole. And he could call him an asshole because all signs pointed at him being the one responsible for the giant hickey on Rory's neck and yet, they stood here in his fucking kitchen, introducing themselves as if they'd never met!

"Get out!" Logan snapped at him. "Just get the hell out and don't ever come back here. Or call. Or do anything to her again."

"Hey!" Greek raised his hands defensively. "Chill. I'll get my clothes – "

But Logan wasn't in a forgiving mood and he grabbed Greek's arm a little tighter as he dragged him to the door.

Rory's giggles drowned out his yelling as Logan slammed the door shut, disposing of the Greek.

"You are my knight in shining Hugo Boss!" Rory exclaimed as Logan walked back into the kitchen. She cocked her head to the side to better observe Logan. "Oh, you look mad!"

"Are you kidding me, Rory?"

His harsh tone silenced her and he immediately felt guilty. She was drunk, she had no recollection. There was no point in getting mad now – she needed to be sober. Maybe then he'd get the whole story.

The apartment was engulfed in silence as he fixed her a cup of coffee. "Just drink this," he said, his tone distant, as he handed it to her.

She took the cup and stared at it a few moments, before taking a small, cautious sip, as if she didn't know what it was. Rory savored that first sip and kept on nipping at her cup under the scrutiny of Logan's glare.

In all his anger and confusion, he couldn't help but notice the incredibly tragic scene she cut. Slumped together, her head bobbing, eyes blinking. A look of complete detachment on her face. Coffee at this point was her only salvation and even that she could not fully embrace. Maybe she was embarrassed coffee had to witness her like this, holding the mug with two hands and slowly – unsurely – bringing it up to her mouth.

Of course, Logan had no way of knowing that coffee had seen her like this many, many times before.

* * *

"Oi, mate, there's a naked bloke roaming around the hallways!"

Logan snapped his neck around and saw a casually dressed Finn standing his kitchen. He had two large Starbucks to-go cups stacked in his left hand and his eyes were covered by Rayban's. This was him hung-over. Thankfully, though, he's damage did not seem as severe as Rory's.

"That's just fucking excellent," Logan spat, much to Finn's dismay.

"No need to get angry, mate!" He took a sip of his latté, "That naked man probably had a rough night…"

Yeah, Andreas was the one with the rough night. Logan gently rubbed his temples in an attempt to stave off his growing headache and building anger. In what kind of parallel universe had he come home to?

"Are you alright?" Finn asked, hints of concern lacing his voice but he was far too hazy to wonder why, exactly, Logan was standing in the kitchen when he should've been in Paris.

Logan smacked his lips together contemplating, not so much the answer, because that was obvious, but how to respond. Blowing up would get him nowhere and probably upset Rory.

"Just peachy," he answered through gritted teeth. Finn picked up on his sarcastic angry tone and took offence.

"Hey, no need to snap at me, mate. Naked men have never angered you before!"

Logan snorted. "That's because I've never had to deal with them roaming around my apartment!"

Stunned, Finn lifted up his sunglasses and shot him a confused look, but Logan didn't notice as he carried on his angry ramble.

"I leave to go on one fucking business trip and I come back to find Rory drunk off her ass doing rum and orange wedge shots on my kitchen counter and you are no where to be found. You went off to Scotland!"

Finn looked to the left and to the right, checking to see if Logan, perhaps, was directing himself toward someone else, but when he realized it was for him he let out an indignant gasp. "I most certainly did not!"

"You were somewhere, Finn! 'Cause you weren't here, stopping Greek men from mauling her!"

"I was hardly mauled!" Rory interjected, taking offence, but Finn's shouting overshadowed her comment.

"She's a grown woman, mate, not a baby!" Last night's events were too clouded in his mind and it was very hard to fight with just half the facts.

"So that makes it okay to bring naked guys home?"

"He wasn't naked then!" Rory's laugh caught the men's attention as they turned to look at her. Still propped up on the counter, she was waving he now-empty coffee mug about.

Finn's gaze shifted from Rory to Logan. Rory had mentioned something about the other shoe dropping and he was witnessing it freefalling from Mt. Everest and kir-splatting on the ground. And yet, the severity of the situation didn't quite hit him.

"What happened, Finn?" Logan asked softly as he took the mug from Rory.

A few deep breaths and the effects of the Starbucks brought some of it back. "It started with a text," Finn said slowly, thoughtfully, "which was a bit poor form, but the lad's method proved effective. Not so much in the outcome."

"Why?" Logan asked.

"We went dancing." With this information, Logan pieced together that Nicholas must've been the texter (that bastard) and had come on to Rory (he'd kill him) but that Rory didn't want him (apparently, because he was ugly?) and left to go dancing.

"Bungalow was packed," Finn continued his story, "you should've been there, mate, ladies all around…"

And suddenly, it clicked, Finn met a girl – a red head, with a good chance of being Scottish as he remembered Rory relaying that fact to him - so he left.

"Who's the girl?"

"Ah." Finn nodded before taking a sip of his coffee. "Didn't quite catch her name. It wasn't that type of encounter…" He shook his head a little bit. "She did pinch my nipples, though. Quite painful." Finn proceeded to lift his shirt, but Logan stopped him as he let out an annoyed huff.

"Just put your shirt down, Finn! I'm not diagnosing your nipples!" His jaw tightened. "I can't believe you left Rory alone to fuck some chick!"

"She wasn't alone – she was dancing with five hundred people!" Finn shot back. "Rory just wanted to dance, and she was dancing and I just wanted to sneak off to the loo. Fifteen minutes tops…"

"…and one thing lead to another." Logan cut in – he'd heard this too many times before. "Jesus, Finn! You're not in college anymore, you're an adult. You should have some sense of responsibility!"

"Well thank-you, Mr. Huntzberger!"

Logan scoffed – calling him Mr. Huntzberger was a low blow - but Finn didn't apologize.

"Rory got drunk and made a mistake, Logan. She had a bad day and was hurting. We had some fun." Finn tried to explain, but it only fueled Logan's anger.

"Is it fun now?" he intentionally raised his voice and his loud tone pierced their ears and aggravated their hangover headaches.

"No!" Rory cried, causing Logan and Finn to look at her. Her breathing was heavy and her head stopped bobbing as her whole body tensed up. Before either of the boys could ask what was wrong, or fetch her a bucket, she threw up. A rancid mix of last night's alcohol and Chinese food spilled across the kitchen floor and the toxic stench permeated the air.

"Oh, love," Finn sighed, feeling incredibly sorry for his sick friend, "let me make you Finny's patent-pending hangover beverage." He turned to Logan. "Do we have applesauce, Tabasco, vegemite, peanut butter and a raw egg?"

Logan raised his hand to silence Finn. "Just clean up this mess."

He'd always been able to manage crisis situations. It was Logan who'd calmed down the Hilton's General Manager after the skate-rink incident. It was him who'd been on the horn to his father's legal team and it was him who'd talked Finn out of his ridiculous escape plans.

In this moment, this was just another crisis; his emotions were numbed as rational thinking took over. There was vomit on the kitchen floor. Finn needed to clean it up. There was vomit on Rory. He needed to clean it up.

And with that, he stepped over the sick, scooped up Rory and carried her to the bathroom. He set her down on the counter top as he proceeded to draw her a bath.

"Lots of bubbles," Rory said, as she pushed on of her shoulder straps down. Subtle. As if she hadn't woken up with a man in her bed.

Logan threw his head back and groaned. _Of_ _course_ Rory had to make this more difficult than it already was. In his fantasies, anything involving a bath and the two of them, was just a continuation of the good time he fantasized they were having.

In no way did it come close to having Rory so smashed she couldn't stand, leaving him in an intensely awkward and difficult to negotiate position. She'd have take off her clothes and he'd have to stay with her, since she was in no way capable of bathing herself. Logan was racking his brain to think of a way to fix the impending awkward naked time, but Rory's voice distracted him.

"Oh Logan," she cooed. He looked up and wasn't surprised that Rory had managed to discard the dress/negligee she'd been wearing, leaving her exposed before him in her bra and panties.

It was sad and uncomfortable. Not sexy. Even though it was obvious she thought it was. She cocked a flirtatious eyebrow at him.

He grabbed a large towel off the rack as he stepped toward her. She immediately ran her sticky fingers over his chest, that flirtatious smile still in place, but he didn't respond to her advances.

"Rory?"

She stopped and her expectant eyes met his distant ones. "You have to take a bath, okay? And I'm going to have to help you."

"Yes, you will…" Another smile, bat of the eyes. Logan sighed. "I'm going to put this towel between us and I want you to take off your underwear. Then I will help you stand up, put this towel around you and put you in the tub. Okay?"

He had never spoken about getting naked so clinically before (he could not fathom a situation in which you'd have to) and he'd never spoken to her so condescendingly. Even if class, he debated with her as an equal. But not now, not here.

"Why so serious?" Rory asked, grinning, slowly running her tongue across her bottom lip.

Maybe it would've been easier on him to have her strip off completely, to lure her to the tub under false pretenses, but he didn't want to. Maybe he wanted to help her preserve the lasts shreds of her dignity, but it was self protection, too. He did not want to see her naked, take advantage of her, not like this.

"You don't want to take a bath with me?" she tested, her hands once again finding their way to Logan's chest and before they reached his neck, he gently, but firmly, took them in his own, before letting go.

"You've got to take a bath, Rory. We'll talk later."

"I don't want to talk, Logan!" Rory exclaimed. "I want to…" she lowered her voice as an impish grin flashed across her face, "… fuck you."

He inhaled sharply as all subtlety flew out the window. Somehow her crassness shocked him, although, if he was honest, it was something he'd said to his conquests many times before, with a matching wicked smirk.

At Logan's prolonged silence, Rory tipped her head to the side and the mood changed. "You don't…?" A looked of genuine confusion and hurt was etched on her face.

"Rory…let's just focus on the bath, okay?" he said softly, as he placed the towel between them. She looked at him, so fragile, and he gave her a short nod. It was okay. Ever the gentleman, he turned his head to the side as she undid her final garments.

Her soft cough let him know she was ready. "Do you think you can stand?" he asked and she shook her head. It wasn't another attempt to seduce him; Logan could tell by how hard she was avoiding eye-contact with him that she was embarrassed.

With one swift move, he gently slid her off the counter, so she fell into him, and catching her, he wrapped the soft towel around her body.

Silently, he carried her to the edge of the tub, sat her down and turned around as she undid the towel and slid into the tub. Rory stared vacantly at the silver faucet as Logan quickly washed her hair and took a washcloth to her face.

Thankfully, the hot water and soapy bubbles sobered her up a bit; she was able to stand up and lean back into the towel. Without innuendos, without words, without even looking at him. She gratefully took the robe Logan held out for her and nodded obediently as he told her that she'd should get some sleep.

He held out his arm and she took hold of it – still a little unsteady on her feet – as they slowly made their way to her room.

Her bed sheets were scattered across the room as were Greek's clothes and Logan spotted one of Rory's stilettos on the nightstand.

Without a word, Logan closed her door, shielding her (or was that himself?) from last night's wreckage. Rory didn't dare look at his face as he lead her back through the hallway and down another. His room.

"Sleep here", he told her. "The sheets are…clean." The strain of this morning's events were obviously taking its toll.

Rory sat down on his bed – it was soft and his comforter smelled so good and inviting. She didn't even notice that he was standing before her with a pair of boxers and a t-shirt (also his), a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.

"Here…" he said offering her the clothes and she watched, eyes fixed to the plastic white bottle, as he shook two tablets in his hand. "These will help."

Gratefully, she popped the pills in her mouth and downed the water.

"Logan…" she started, unsure what she wanted to say, but she needed to say something. He didn't want to hear it as he shook his head.

"Just try to get some sleep, Rory."

She recognized that tone. It was disappointment mixed with disbelief and, maybe, just a hint of betrayal. Her dad had used that tone many times. Richard and Mitchum, too. And now, Logan.

Rory took in a shaky breath – glad that he had closed the door so he couldn't see the tears that filled her eyes.

Her tears quickly gave way to the overwhelming and all-encompassing urge to sleep and as he head hit the pillow she slipped into another world.

* * *

_Sixteen. Her room. Her bed. Tristan DuGrey smirking down at her. _

"_Are you sure, my angel?" _

_Maybe? Her eyes darted from that smirk to his eyes. Green ones she loved because they looked at her like that. Yes, she was sure. _

_Summer. Her garden. Love, flash forwarding to hate. His hand down Ginger Reynolds silk panties, violating their gazebo. _

_Humiliation fading to her room. A new bed. A six-week home, until she needed to be over it. Clubs and cosmopolitans helped stagnate her thoughts, helped smother the burn of embarrassment. The gaping hole he'd left. _

_The one __she__ let him leave. _

_Practically perfect Rory was now looking at scantily clad Rory. Cropped-top, even shorter skirt. Electro beats aiding to silence gossiping words. Floating through a slew of boys, sloppy kisses, lust-filled touches. The ball firmly in her court. She orchestrated the moves; she was in control. Never love, always lust, always to her benefit. Guys entered, but never came close to her. _

_Cut to Christopher's office filled with angry shouting. Mitchum and Richard. Lorelai silent, for once and Emily crying. Too many boys, too much gossip. Vague promises to do better. Visions of graduation and work accomplishments floated by. _

_She did better, but wasn't better. _

_Back to the garden. Broken. Again. Still. G&Ts and daffodils. More gossip. Logan. More shouting. No promises, just accusations._

_But she liked him. _

_Fast-forward to London. A quick succession of Logan. His smiles, his meaningful glances, his notes. _

_Coffee, coke, it's still caffeine. Sweaty palms and butterfly stomach. So bright and so shiny, so meant to be._

_Spinning, drowning into a deep, dark, and twisted vortex. _

_Too many diamonds to be rough. _

_Gap-toothed and frizzy-haired goodbyes. No. Betrayals. _

_An uncomfortable feeling seeped in as she realized she'd been staring at a cell phone on the coffee table. It rang with the wrong number. _

_Even more dread as she walked into the bar, feeling far superior to the other patrons, causing a scene. Breaking an ugly heart – but a heart nonetheless - in the way only someone scorned by love could. _

_A new club. Shinier floors. Louder music. Fist punching and foot stomping. Different green eyes, but essentially same. _

_These eyes do not love her, but want her, for tonight at least. _

_At least someone did. _

_Bitter, she was, just like the white wine she'd been drinking earlier. The gin-and-juice made her want to be wanted by him; tequila made her choose green available eyes. _

_And then, her whirlwind of thoughts slowed to the next scene. Slow-motion. The kitchen. Logan. Not supposed to be there, but he was (for her? For them?) with a different look in his eyes. _

_Concerned, soft tones. Patient questions. Bad answers. Logan, saving her from a naked Greek statue man. _

_Lust. Not for Greek, but for him. She knows she's drunk but she's sure he longs for her, too. _

_Too many games, so many points. They are both winners, right? _

_Pouty lips, flirty smiles, seductive touches. She wants him. Needs him. His hands covering hers before letting go… _

_It means rejection. She lost. And because she's exposed, it stings worse. _

_Her embarrassment may have started as a small fire, but it is now an inferno, burning through her body. No more meaningful glances, no more talking. Silence. _

_Tub water drains away and there's nothing left but his bed and her otherwise naked skin covered by his clothes. _

_Maybe there's hope…? _

_Tiny airplane hallway. Hugo Boss. Just Boss. She hates flying, but she's on this plane for him. Even if it's commercial, even it's business class. For him, anything. Toting her Birkin, she shuffles her ballerina clad feet towards him, but he steps back, away from her, and the plane drops, quickly falling from the sky and catching aflame before it hits the ground. _

* * *

Rory jolted up before the plane smashed into the ground, instantly regretting it as she felt an immediate sharp pounding in her head. Nauseated, she squinted a little, trying to adjust to the harsh light in the room. It doesn't help that the room is spinning softly, either.

Her mouth was dry – as if she swallowed a family pack of rum and tequila cotton balls – and she was sweaty. Even with all of the sheets kicked of the bed, she still managed to soak through her T-shirt and stain the pillow case.

Slowly, her breathing returned to normal and she realized that she was in Logan's room. And she'd been dreaming. About the plane crash, at least. The rest was scattered and fractured, but she knew what she needed to know. She royally fucked up things with Logan. Without obvious reasons, apart from her own insecurities about being cheated on and commitment.

But she knew that didn't justify her actions. She got drunk, brought a stranger home, and vomited on the kitchen floor and Logan witnessed it all, and not only put up with it; he took care of her.

Rory sunk back into her (his) pillows as she watched his room idly float by. She had a lot of explaining and apologizing to do.

* * *

A knock on the door felt like someone jabbed a knife through her eye, but she did not respond. The wooden picture frames were still swaying on Logan's blue-gray walls and besides, Rory had no clue what – if anything – she could say to Logan to make this better.

"Rory?" His deep voice was another knife-jab and an uncomfortable sensation of humiliation radiated through her body. Slowly, he pushed open the door and settled his gaze on her. Rory knew she looked awful. He didn't smirk as he took in her damp, sweaty hair, pale skin, boxers and a stained t-shirt.

"Hey."

Rory tired to swallow; her tongue was like sandpaper. And she coughed, before speaking. "Hi," she croaked back, noting how hoarse and foreign her voice sounded.

Logan handed her a glass of water and some more aspirin before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"You alright?" His tone was distant; he'd run out of patience with her.

She nodded slowly, all too aware of the rhythmic pounding in her brain, before downing the pills. Wincing as the cool water could not offset the nasty taste in her mouth. She needed a tic-tac, or something.

"Hung over," Rory told him truthfully, "but I'll be alright…"

It lingered in the air, as they both silently contemplated that statement. "Um, Finn…?" she asked, trying to alleviate the building tension. Besides, she was curious about her friend – she had some vague recollection of a Scottish girl, but it was lost between the shreds of thoughts from last night.

"…is sleeping through his hang over," Logan said, "he probably won't wake up for until tomorrow."

"That's…not good," Rory said, weighing her words carefully, as she tried to make eye contact with him. She wasn't looking forward to this conversation, but she knew instinctively that it'd be worse if Logan started.

Logan caught her eye and his expression silently urged her to speak up. "Last night was…not good."

He chuckled darkly. "No, it wasn't."

"I was in bad place," she tried to explain, "and when I was younger I'd go out to cope…"

"Yeah, because growing up was probably really tough for you," he nodded in fake sympathy. "Big family, all the money in the world, lots of friends. I'd drink to forget about it, too."

"It wasn't because of them!" She let out an irritated sigh. All she wanted was to apologize and for things to go back to normal. He was making this much more difficult than it had to be. "You grew up in London – shielded from Hartford's hypocrisy; don't judge." She waited a beat, averting her gaze. "You don't know me."

"You are absolutely right, Rory. The girl I know would never in her right mind get drunk and drag some guy home!"

Her head snapped back to him and she pounded her fists on the mattress. "It wasn't intentional….!"

"But you fucked him? Right?"

It stayed silent for a while as Rory thought about it. In her mind she saw them kissing, she saw the shots, she knew he left his mark on her neck and she knew her room looked like a mess, but the actual deed, she couldn't remember.

"I don't remember," she whispered, but his bellowing cut through. "You don't remember? God, Rory! He jumped up from his seat. "How could you be so….?" His hand ran through his perfect hair and he shook his head at her. "You know, you've got a one track mind to the point of recklessness! You've got to be so god damn extreme, up, down, left, right, you're like a freaking one woman circus. What if that asshole raped you, huh?" He cocked his head to the side, "What if he got you pregnant? He could be ridden with disease!"

"I'm on the Pill," she bit back defensively, "and I'll get tested. It's fine." She tried to wave this uncomfortable subject away, but Logan was outraged.

"It's not fine!"

He was yelling! At her! Telling her what she could and could not do! No one ever yelled at her; they spoke firmly. And now, instead of apologetic, she was enraged.

"Fuck you, Logan," she spat, struggling to push the tangled mess of sheets off the bed. "You are just upset I'm not some perfect virgin girl you can deflower. You hate that I've been with guys like Andreas. That I'm like that…Well, guess what, Logan. It's just sex and you are the same!"

His brow wrinkled and he was about to retaliate, but she didn't let him. "You snap your fingers and girls come running. They could be disease ridden hussies, sluts you could've impregnated, but does that stop you? I believe just last night you were having dinner with Gemma?"

Logan's face hardened. "Nothing happened."

Unimpressed, she scoffed. "You didn't call."

"It was a business meeting. I couldn't."

She took a step closer to him; venom in her tone. "How'd long it take you to come up with that brilliant excuse?"

"She came on to me, but I shut her down." He snapped his fingers for emphasis, "Like that. And it wasn't hard at all, because I knew I wanted you." Logan swallowed, adding softly. "Only you."

This revelation punched her in the stomach and sucked all the air out of the room. He what? This was too much, she needed to sit down.

It was obvious to him that it hurt her. Badly. But oddly, he was void of emotion – at least of feelings of sadness or forgiveness. "Of course," he inhaled sharply, "That was before I knew you were out, getting drunk, because you couldn't deal with the fact that plans fell through…."

"Not just plans! Big things!" Rory shouted, "I failed FTF. Even without my last names, they still screwed me over. And you left and didn't call! I thought… that I thought wrong about you…."

"You jumped to conclusions."

Rory shrugged. Maybe so. She hadn't really thought about it, but there was no way in hell she'd let him know that. He should've called. Period.

"I was waiting by the phone for you to call, Logan," she told him. "I'm not that person! I cannot be that person! And I thought you weren't calling because of her."

"Rory, I told you…"

"But I didn't believe you!" she yelled, hoping that'd she'd get that through his thick skull. She couldn't help that she didn't believe him. The craziness took over – the result was out of her hands. And the blame, really, couldn't be placed on her.

"Why?" he demanded. "What have I done for you not to trust me…?"

Nothing her brain screamed but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Instead, she heaved a heavy sigh. "I have …issues."

Logan snorted. "Clearly."

"I've been cheated on before," Rory said calmly, "it wasn't a good experience."

Logan needed a minute to process but tabloid headlines came rushing back to him; reminding him. His features softened a bit. "Tristan DuGrey?"

"Don't say his name."

"Rory…"

"I don't want to talk about it, Logan." But maybe she kind of did. "I loved him, okay? With everything and he lied to me. And going out helped me cope…."

Logan looked at her full of disbelief. "How's getting drunk and sleeping around helping you cope?"

"Because it's not real. It can't hurt me."

Logan opened his mouth to counter, but Rory shut him down. She wasn't the only one; he was just as bad. "As if your "relationships" were real."

"No, but my sex was not some twisted therapy. I was having fun; sowing wild oats. If I wanted it to mean something, I could've, but I wanted fun, before Mitchum would take over my life."

Rory's eyes widened in shock. Mitchum. How'd she be able to break this to Mitchum? Disappointing him (and Richard, and everyone) again. FTF was supposed to be her redemption, the one thing that could silence her critics once and for all.

"What did you tell Mitchum?"

"About…?"

"This!"

Honestly, he'd been so busy with being in crisis mode he hadn't time to think about Mitchum.

"I'm not sure he'd would want to here about how you tried to seduce me in the shower…," he said sarcastically.

Rory dropped her head in shame. She'd forgotten about that. Another blow to her sensitive stomach; she'd treated him as if he were just another boy to screw. He wasn't – he had to know he wasn't.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely, "I was…"

"Drunk. I know, it's the all-encompassing excuse. It's the way you operate. It's okay; I get it."

The coldness in his tone made her stomach turn. "No, Logan," she tried, desperation all but tangible in her tone, "It wasn't supposed to – I wanted it to be different with you."

"Are you sure about that, Rory?" he spat, "Because from where I'm standing you had no problem reverting back to your old ways. You like being the victim; you let yourself be the victim..."

"I'm not!"

"Are too!" he shot back, "And for what? Some sixteen year old boy that lied to you? You were a kid – you weren't going to stay with DuGrey forever. And some guys are just douche bags. Guess what? Not all guys…not me."

Rory begged to differ; he'd displayed some pretty douche bag-y behavior. At least, in this moment, to her mind.

"You left me to my own devices for a month! But you bought me a coffee maker. You wrote notes, 'cause you didn't want to talk to me, but you took care of me when I was sick. You were going to take me to Paris, but didn't!"

"I was trying, Rory!" His tone was strained from all the yelling. "I was supposed to be your mentor – there are boundaries and rules!"

"Since when you do care about rules?"

"I started caring for you and then I had to start caring about the rules!" Another revelation, causing her to avert her eyes. Her hated that she was so honest with him. That meant he could be honest with her, too.

Logan noticed the guilty look on her face, though he continued. "And I was scared, alright? I'm not the commitment type; but then again, you aren't either."

"That not true…," she tried, but it was pointless. Logan was in full on fighting mode.

"In fact, you aren't really even the honest type, are you?"

"What?"

"Oh stop it, Rory. You played a role. You tried to be so perfect, while deep down you just play games!"

She gasped in shock, not because of his accusation, but because, suddenly, a fog lifted and she realized it was true. But she wasn't giving up.

"You're not perfect, either, Logan!" she snapped back. Finger pointing. "You played games with me, too. Hiding behind your boundaries and rules! You're not scared of Mitchum. You're not scared of the Board. You were scared of me, of commitment."

His silence told her it was true. Satisfied, she snorted, "Please. How do I know I wasn't just some experiment to you – to see if it'd work?"

Logan shook his head – she might've been right about his fear of commitment – but they both knew that this had grown to be more than an experiment, a game.

"If you want to believe that, Rory, go right ahead. But it's not true." He spoke in an eerily calm voice, one that made her shiver with regret. "I took things slow. Maybe I sent mixed signals. I just, I didn't want to mess this up; I wanted to do this right – I thought it was real…"

"But it's not." Rory said with a sharp nod, as realization slapped her in the face again. This was bad. The worst she'd done. She had love. Real love and which she slip through her practically perfect fingers.

Logan was right. About Tristan, about being the victim. Her weakest moments were unfounded, exaggerated by her, but witnessed by Logan. And she was to blame. He called her out on her bullshit and saw through her. He didn't deserve this – she didn't deserve him.

Slowly, Rory stood up and backed out of the room; she needed to get away from him.

"Where are you going?" he called, coming after her as she made her way down one hallway, and another, stopping short at her bedroom door. "Rory!"

A deep breath and she opened her door, looking straight through last night's wreckage. Rory headed for her bed and tugged her suitcase from under it. One step to the left and she was at her dresser and randomly pulled open a drawer with the force of a woman on a mission.

She scooped up the clothes – not bothering to look at the items – and dumped them in her roller bag.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here," Rory answered, "clearly, I'm not cut out to be a Future Writer. Or a girlfriend, or anything else…."

"What?"

"I'm not a writer," she said, more to herself than anyone else, "I wrote for Grandpa and Mitchum. Grandpa's dead and Mitchum will get over it. And I cannot stay here with you. Not like this…" she shook her head, wondering how it came to this awkward, uncomfortable, unfortunate mess.

Logan watched in silence as Rory scooped the contents of her nightstand into her Birkin and retrieved her toiletry bag from the bathroom. And he was too stunned to stop her, to stunned to tell her she was being rash, they'd work it out. At least for FTF's sake because she'd worked so hard.

But then, he realized it did not matter. After all, he was standing in the room she may, or may not have, screwed some guy. He was better off without her, better off without the drama. Kind of like what he'd always expected.

"You hate flying," he said suddenly, causing Rory to stop in her tracks. He noticed she'd changed into jeans and the same baby pink vest she'd been wearing on that first flight.

That was true, but she hated being in the same room with him even more. She was surprised her humiliation didn't eat her alive, that's how bad she felt, that's how sorry she was. And she could never make it right.

"I have to go home," Rory told him flatly as she gathered her belongings.

She had almost reached the door when she spotted her LV-roller bag. Innocent, still expecting a trip to Nice, still representing what could've been. The lump grew in her throat but she couldn't cry, not now.

"I'll send someone for the rest of my things," she announced briskly in her distant society tone, before she pushed her bug-eyed shades down.

Logan nodded slowly, as if it were a great strain. He was too numbed to stop her, to talk even.

The door slammed shut. Rory was gone.

Game over.

* * *

**So curious to see your reactions to these latest developments, but before you break your keyboard pressing the review button and sending me hate mail, let me first just say that this is not the last chapter; it's not game over. **

**More like game changing. **

**I know you are dying for them to get together and they will. I promise. I know I push their relationship to the limits and overstep so many boundaries, but I am fully committed to making this happy for them. So no worries on that front, okay? OKAY? **

**So, to me it would've been too easy for them to start something in London. More importantly, it wouldn't have been real. Mostly because there was still a little bit of Old Rory that needed to get out. Drunk Rory at Richard's wake was bad, but that was just the tip of Old Rory's ice berg. And I think that if (when!) Logan commits to someone he deserves the whole person, not just some perfectly crafted image of that person, right? And so, I had to build it down, break it up and start again. We'll grieve for the London times, though. **

**And I know Rory may be a little bitchy and off-the-deep-end, but she was kind of bitchy (she played Dean. Hard. And I never even liked Dean) and off-the-deep-end in the show (she stole a boat!) So, she had to go home, because Rory runs from her problems. And Logan let her go. Because he doesn't do drama. **

**I'm going to let that simmer for a while.**

**I haven't updated my other stories since – what? March? – and I've got the Big Graduation Ceremony to prepare for (this Thursday, actually, because, you know, I graduated with honors for my thesis (!)) and then I fly off to Florida for the summer. Updates will forever be sporadic, so fingers crossed and hope for the best. **

**And I'm going to end this long AN with a big thank you to you guys for always loving and reviewing this story. You guys are the absolute best a girl like me could have. 500 reviews is incredible! And a special shout-out to Deyja for being the 500th! **

**PS: review if you are anxious to see how I fix this!**


	21. Round Twenty One: Three Months

**Can I just say I have the best readers ever? The love for this story is so amazing and makes me so happy! This one is for ****Orionsbabydoll for reviewing today! **

**I know you all must've thought I had gone crazy when I uploaded a Gone with the Wind fic – especially when you were waiting for me to update this. But… I'm spending part of my summer tanning and reading and I read GWTW. Scarlett and Rhett are totally fic-worthy and so, I had to write about them. **

**And this…well, this was supposed to be the five stages of grief, I had it all planned out, but I wrote this instead. **

**Thankfully, I like this better. Hope you do too! Much love! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own GG! **

* * *

Getting out of London was all a blur. All that mattered was that she was leaving it all behind, FTF, but more importantly, Logan.

Rory didn't allow herself to think about what she had said or what she had done and she didn't allow her thoughts to venture to tomorrow, all the things she would have to face once home.

She was stuck in the moment – numbed – needing to get out of London.

* * *

Logan stared at his front door. It slammed shut twenty or thirty minutes ago but he couldn't bring himself to look away.

It was a tall door, seven or eight feet maybe. Wooden, but stained deep black and covered in thick glossy paint. The sheen was enough for him to see his reflection. Logan couldn't quite place his expression but it was somewhere between anger and betrayal. And maybe just a touch of regret.

Maybe…maybe he should've gone after her. Maybe he shouldn't have blown up at her. Maybe he had made this thing with her to be a bigger deal than it really was. After all, she was the one who brought some Greek gyros-eating bastard in his (their? no definitely his) home.

No, he had definitely made the right decision. That was somewhat comforting and he wished he could detect that in his reflection, but he couldn't. Slowly, he moved away from the door.

He would have his housekeeper clean Rory's room and pack up her stuff.

* * *

The numbness stayed. It didn't matter that Lorelai's words were sympathetic or that Christopher "wasn't mad, just disappointed". She ignored suggestions of shopping trips and spa days and took to her room. Christopher was concerned, but Lorelai convinced him it that Rory just needed to wallow.

Rory's bed became her new home. Her parents checked up on her, but couldn't get through to her. No one could. She couldn't eat and she couldn't sleep. The maid sustained her by bringing coffee every few hours, which Rory took with a grateful smile, and continued her analysis of where it all went wrong.

A lot of the events of the fateful night were lost forever and it was painful to think of how good it'd been before. How hopeful she had been, how proud and excited she would have been to call herself his girlfriend after their trip to Nice.

After a handful of days (she'd lost count how long she'd been home), Rory received a note from the desk of Mitchum Huntzberger. He wasn't mad, just "saddened by the unfortunate circumstances" and he'd be in touch soon to "figure something out". He was giving her a few weeks to get "settled" – which was code for grieve, she knew.

So that's just what she did.

* * *

Logan wasn't mad at Finn. Of course, they had an explosive argument. Logan swore and Finn yelled. A punch or two may have fallen (Finn's sunglasses didn't survive) and in the heat of the moment Logan kicked Finn out. But the two had made up before Finn could start packing.

At the end of the day, they both knew it wasn't Finn who Logan was mad at and they both knew Rory well enough to know that once she made up her mind about the rum, the boy, and being bulletproof all hope was lost.

Finn really was sorry, though. He was drunk and the nameless girl wasn't worth it. Not if it'd cost Logan and Rory becoming Logan-and-Rory.

On the first chilly Sunday night, Finn and Logan were in the movie room watching Top Gear, drinking beer and eating potato chips. Without dip. Because Rory had always insisted on dip, especially if she was watching a show about cars.

Logan caught the look in Finn's eye. "I'm not making dip."

Finn was grateful for the opening Logan provided, because he never talked about her. "Just call her. Or put a note in her stuff, which we've yet to mail...?"

"Don't touch her shit, Finn. The maid is taking care of it. And no notes."

"But mate…"

Logan shook his head, annoyed that Finn had to bring it up. "What is it they say? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me?"

Finn took a swig of beer and shrugged. That sounded about right.

"I was fooled and I won't be fooled again." Logan drained his beer and with that closed the subject for good.

Finn thought that Logan would drown his sorrows (because it was obvious that he was hurting) in booze and hussies but instead he had jumped straight into work. Damage control at FTF. It was Westville who had approached him at the HPG offices last week saying what a shame it was that Miss Gilmore had to forfeit the rest of the Program.

Logan had nodded sympathetically and silently urged Westville to divulge more, which he did. Apparently, Rory Gilmore left the program because her grandfather was sick and she needed to be home. Westville chuckled too, as he let slip that the Gilmore family must be distraught to contact Mitchum Huntzberger personally about their family drama. Logan had let out an agreeable chuckle, but silently thanked Mitchum's cunning ways.

He did not understand Mitchum and Rory's relationship, but as long as he wasn't on the receiving end of an angry telephone call blaming him for this mess it was fine by him.

And he gladly used the excuse conjured up by his dear old dad in Tuesday's class.

* * *

"It's unacceptable!" Emily said as she carefully buttered her toast. "I should've…but Richard said…and I listened!" Her tone had reached the pitch only dogs could hear, so she took a deep breath before speaking again. "Not any longer! That girl's place is at the DAR, in society. She's a Gilmore-Hayden for Pete's sake – our heiress should be involved!"

"Heiress, mom?" Lorelai raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "We are the Gilmore-Haydens, Mom. We make the rules."

She shot a side glance to Christopher, lobbying for some support, but he was concentrating on mixing the perfect amount of Tabasco with ketchup – the perfect dipping sauce for scrambled eggs.

"Oh, the DAR is so lovely," Shira sighed, "and we've got the holiday dances coming up and the debs in the spring…it'll be so much fun."

Lorelai pointed her fork at Shira. "Rory's had too much fun." She twisted her head to Chris, waiting for him to chime in, which he did eventually, with a weighty sigh.

"I don't know, Lore. Maybe it'll be good for her – "

"Good for her?"

"You know – some tradition, some structure," he pushed his eggs around on his plate, "those functions aren't entirely awful – we met at one, remember?"

His smile did nothing to convince Lorelai. "So you hope she's going to meet someone?"

"That would be splendid!" Lorelai and Chris both turned to observe the wistful smile on Shira's face – she'd give anything to relive her glory days.

"Oh stop it, Shira!" Mitchum rudely interrupted his wife's daydream. "Who's she going to meet? DuGrey?"

"Thank-you!" Lorelai exclaimed, but she found herself on the receiving end of one of Chris' looks. "As if Huntzberger is so much better."

Shira and Lorelai gasped, but Emily nodded in agreement.

"Chris, Rory said nothing happened between her and Logan…"

"…she was upset about the whole Paris trip falling through," Mitchum interjected. "Yes, Logan should not have mentioned it to her, but he – and I – thought the Board would select her. I've already spoken to Westville about his conduct."

"And how 'bout your son's conduct?" Emily asked, "It's obvious she's protecting that boy. She was living with him, Mitchum! If the girls at the Club new my granddaughter was living with Logan Huntzberger…"

"Oh, they'd curl up and _just die_, Mom," Lorelai shook her head in disgust. "Rory was sick, she told me that's how she ended up staying there. And she made friends with that homosexual Australian boy. It was all innocent!" She turned to Mitchum and he nodded – at least someone was backing her up.

"Emily," he tried again, "Rory is not cut out to be in the DAR. Richard said…"

And Rory sat there, Lorelai on her left, Mitchum on her right, quietly nursing a cup of bad coffee. She never understood how a restaurant that advertised a two-hundred dollar brunch had the audacity to serve substandard coffee.

The conversation – her fate being decided – really didn't interest her. She couldn't bring herself to expand on the situation – it was best to let everyone think that not winning the Paris trip caused her to go a little crazy and it was easier to explain that she was having fun with Finn and that's why she stayed at Logan's. She alluded to him being gay so her mother wouldn't pry.

Maybe she was protecting Logan. She couldn't imagine him needing protection, but he had mentioned something about rules to take into consideration and him being fond of his trust. Rory wouldn't put it past Mitchum to have established a certain set of rules for his son.

And even if there weren't any rules, she still wanted to protect him from the Gilmore's wrath, from angry Mitchum phone calls. She'd done enough to hurt him, he didn't need that too.

Rory cast her eyes to her plate. Her scrambled eggs were gone and she'd eaten a chocolate muffin, too. Her appetite was coming back and she was dressed, out of bed and hadn't cried for 48 hours. That had to count for something, too, right?

* * *

Rory had been gone for three weeks and Logan faked a smile as he presented Katie Nolan with the grand prize – the 1-year contract at HPG. The Nolans were wealthy Irish and Katie was quiet but smart, Rory-smart, and went through the program without much notice, but without much drama, very un-Rory-like. She was the underdog.

Did she deserve to win? Maybe, Logan thought as the girl graciously started on her acceptance speech. He spotted a dejected looking Nicholas and Gemma in the crowd, him wearing last year's Ralph Lauren with a slightly too-long tie, and her in Vera Wang for H&M. Rory was right about that – they'd always be "last year". If they had known that, he realized, they wouldn't look so put out.

For a brief moment, Logan wondered if Nick was upset about the way things turned out with Rory. Maybe he had harbored some hope that it was just a drunk rejection, that perhaps she'd come to her senses in the morning. What with a great guy like Nick throwing himself at her feet – how could she resist? And how tragic, then, that Rory just up and left without so much as a note to her friends.

His sympathy faded quickly as he realized that that would put him on the same level as Nicholas.

And, truthfully, he knew Rory was never really friends with Gemma or Nick. It turned out that Gemma wasn't much of a friend either. She had started a rumor that Rory left because she couldn't bear losing Paris to her. Once or twice, she pressed him for information, but he always directed the attention of the class back to the task at hand.

Of course, Gemma did not know how much truth was hidden in her lies.

Needless to say, Logan did not vote for either of them during the Board's final meeting.

Gemma caught him staring and she smiled. His mind flashed to her, naked, in his bed, body flexing at his touch, blond curls fanned out on the pillow, but he broke off his gaze. She wasn't what he wanted, no matter how hard he tried.

Logan stuck around for the celebratory cocktails. He made polite conversation and snacked on the obligatory salmon puffs. He made a game out of avoiding Westville – he had heard rumblings of a phone call between Westville and Mitchum, and he wanted no part in that.

After the party, Logan should've gone home, but instead he crossed town, popped by a liquor store, and wasted his rum-and-coke buzz on work.

* * *

Her London boxes arrived that morning. It'd taken them long enough – six weeks! Rory didn't want to analyze what that meant, but she did anyway. Maybe he had kept her stuff because he couldn't part with it. Or maybe he just really wanted to hurt her, as if missing her stuff would cause that.

It didn't matter; she'd never open the boxes. She had bought new everything because she did not want to be reminded of London (or him).

That night, plagued by insomnia, she wondered if she should open them. Maybe he had put something in there for her, or maybe Finn had. Maybe Finn packed the boxes?

She mulled over the possibilities until she couldn't take it anymore. At 2:30 a.m. she snuck out of her room, down the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen where she located a box cutter and by 2:45, she was back in bed crying.

The first box contained nothing but her LV-roller bag. The contents was unchanged, the scarf she'd tied around the handle still held its bow. It was a relic – the only remains of her almost-relationship. The rest of the boxes contained the rest of her items. Clothes, coats, shoes, make-up. A pillow. A bunch of books. A bathrobe. A few picture frames. Her jewelry box. A couple of notebooks and a Justin Bieber CD (a gag gift from Finn). But all the bits and pieces of her London life were packed in a neat and impersonal way. Housekeeper-style.

The last box was the hardest, that one was the one that sent her back to bed. It was her coffee maker. It wouldn't work here, but he had returned it to her anyway (of course, he had, he didn't drink the stuff) and a manila envelope. She didn't have to open it; it was the envelope she used to save Logan's notes. Not neat and definitely not impersonal, but not anymore.

Rory tried her best to get the brown packing tape to stick to the box again, but it wouldn't. She started pressing it down with urgency, but it popped right back open. Tears heralded her defeat and she dragged herself back to bed. Suddenly six weeks seems like an incredibly short time for everything to have changed so much, so irrevocably.

That night, Rory stopped the analyzing, but switched to a more intense type of torture. She entered the world of could-have. She could've won FTF (instead of that homely Katie Nolan), she could've been starting her year at HPG after the holidays, she could've had him; could've been in his bed right now. She could've still been friends with Finn.

That hurt, too. Probably more than she initially realized. Lane and Dave were her friends, had always been her friends, but they were a package deal. Very Lane-and-Dave. And Lane-and-Dave were moving on. Engaged, in fact, something that happened while she was away, and moving on meant moving past teenage drama, and Rory was still very much involved in drama. What's more, Lane-and-Dave actually thought Chris and Emily were right about joining the DAR!

Finn would've mocked them and offered a glass of wine and a Cosmo magazine (or Marie Clare in a pinch) and they'd think of a way to escape.

She still had Finn's number in her London phone (she kept it on just in case). Theoretically, Rory could contact him. Logan, she reasoned, was out of this. This was between her and Finn. They were friends, best friends. So, without thinking, she texted him. Her phone buzzed a minute later, an angry message letting her know that it wasn't Finn – didn't even know a bloody Finn! – and what kind of idiot texts at 7:30 in the morning?

A fresh round of tears welled up in her eyes. Finn changed numbers. Maybe that girl Finn had been with that night turned out to be psycho and he had to change numbers because she kept calling. Her optimistic side liked that idea, but her pessimistic side knew better. Finn took on new number out of loyalty to Logan. Logan cut all ties, so Finn would cut ties, too. Bros before hoes and that all.

It was sad that he was her only friend and sadder still that she lost him to a guy she never really had.

* * *

The holidays never really meant much to Logan. Normally, he and Finn and Colin and Stephanie would do their best to escape. Skiing in the Alps, diving in the Caribbean. It didn't matter, as long as they were away for the holidays.

This year; however, Colin was traveling to California and he wasn't sure he'd be back. It depended on Stephanie's reaction when she saw the sparkly, giant diamond he'd purchased. Colin understood that Logan declined Colin's invitation to spend the last two weeks of December at some Californian vineyard. And Finn, being Finn, stuck by Logan.

They spent Christmas Eve eating pizza and drinking beer and watching a BBC special. Finn tried to break out the wine, but Logan scrunched up his nose and Finn relented to beer. At least the Heineken had a Santa Clause decoration – it was the only bit of holiday cheer in the whole house.

Logan did his best at monosyllable answers to Finn's questions, so there was also no talking on Christmas Eve. Instead, Finn spent the night fantasizing if Fern Cotton would look good as a red head and Logan's thoughts turned to the handful of Christmas' he spent with his family in Hartford.

Watching bad TV, drinking overpriced beer, and eating cold pizza sounded pretty damn good compared to his mother's dry turkey and his father's maleficent stare. He shook his head at the thought of him spending this Christmas with them.

Best case scenario he'd eat dry turkey and listen to his mother purr on about happenings at the Club and he'd get a lecture from his Dad, probably accompanied by a shout or two and a handful of not-so-subtle reminders of him being a disgrace to the family.

Worst case, ol' Mitch disowned him. It was a possibility since he hadn't heard from his dad since their business in Aberdeen. He could've disowned him; technically, he'd broken the rules. How ever twisted and crazy it was, but he played a role in her fucking up the FTF-thing. Mitchum didn't care about love or trust or how Logan tried to play by the rules, but Mitchum wouldn't believe him.

Disowned.

Goodbye years of life spent at HPG.

Goodbye trust fund.

But then Logan remembered his bank statement and the interest he'd received this month. He hadn't been disowned and no news from Mitchum was good news.

In his thoughts, the worst case changed to the Huntzbergers inviting the Gilmores to Christmas dinner. Logan imagined the awkwardness that would ensue. He chuckled a little darkly as he pictured Mitchum's expression.

Would he follow his Dad's oh-so-brilliant excuse and they'd all pretend the whole thing had never happened? Or would he get a proverbial ass-whopping right in front of the family and her? And what about her? Would Rory be shocked, or maybe she'd be happy and relieved? Maybe she'd run. She seemed to be pretty good at that. Maybe she would yell. Yelling would be okay, he imagined, because it meant that she cared. Or something. Finn had babbled too much tonight about sensitive crap like that.

Christopher might yell. Lorelai and Emily would definitely yell. No, it was best that he'd stayed home. Alone. Except he never really was – not with thoughts of her weighing him down all the damn time.

* * *

Rory had made it through all of the DAR pre-holiday functions without a glass of champagne, gin-and-tonic or white wine. It was a conscious decision to stay away from the alcoholic beverages; she didn't think she was an alcoholic, but alcohol had certainly fueled a bunch of regrettable decisions, so maybe it was best to stay away.

But tonight, at the first little "get together" of the New Year, she felt like she needed a drink. A beer, a shot of tequila, a rum-and-coke, even. She was that desperate.

It was hard to imagine that the Daughters of the American revolution had ever been anyone's daughter. They were all so old.

Except for the new girls – she was a new girl – together with Rosemary, Madeline, Francine, all the girls she'd gone to high school with and despised.

Of course, those girls had gone to college, came back married and had nothing better to do than make babies and plan charity events.

And it was Rosie – junior treasurer – who was taking forever and a day to go through this year's budget. Rory was distracted by Rosemary's tweed jacket and bob-cut and thought of Finn. This was the spunky, spicy girl he followed across Europe and then to the US because he loved her, oh-so-much? This was the girl he let crush his heart? Oh, if only he could see her now. He was much better off sleeping his way through London than being tied down to this boring broad.

Eventually, the meeting adjourned and the ladies – though Rory used that term lightly considering she'd known what the girls did in high school – enjoyed a social cup of tea.

"Coffee?" Rory inquired, but Emily shot her down.

"Coffee is a morning beverage, young lady," Emily reprimanded, "tea is served in the afternoon."

"Oh." Rory dully took her tea cup and saucer from her grandmother and picked a chocolate chip cookie from the plate. Emily's regime was strict, but at least she had good cookies.

"Rory dear, it's so lovely to have you join the DAR," Rosie said after she was finished dumping half the sugar bowl in her tiny cup. Rory's eyebrows shot up unimpressed – as if using a pound of sugar per cup was ladylike – and pulled her lips into a disbelieving grin.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Well, obviously, you had every right to go off and have European adventures, but at the end of the day women of our standing belong in the DAR, wouldn't you agree Constance?"

Rory's looked next to her and saw Constance, grey hair twisted in a sharp bun, glasses pushed to the tip of her nose, eyes droopy from a too-long meeting. Constance mumbled and bit into another cookie.

"Of course," Rosie carried on, "it would be lovely if your mother would join as well. Oh Emily, three Gilmore women in one organization – Hartford wouldn't know what to do with itself."

A wicked grin played at Emily's lips. "I suppose." But Rory was offended, "Rosie, I'm sorry, but my mother is a very busy woman."

"With her little inn…"

"It's not a little inn; it's one of the best inns on the East Coast. And she invested a whole lot of money, so she should be there protecting her investment." Rory noticed her voice had risen an octave and Rosemary's eyes popped open with mild excitement. She'd knew firsthand what happened when Rory Gilmore was mad.

She squinted a bit and a fake-placid smile graced her lips. "I didn't know you were so passionate about your mother's business. Maybe you should try your hand at that instead of newspapers?"

Rory's nostrils flared but before the thing could escalate, Emily handed her another cookie. "Let's not talk about business, ladies, not when the spring collection is about to hit Barney's."

Rory made her way through a dozen chocolate chip cookies and four cups of tea and didn't say a word as the ladies discussed everything from stilettos to sparkly hair clips. And they weren't letting up. It was infuriating.

"We're going to need more cookies," Constance whispered in her ear. The ladies were now discussing what was more "classic" a LBD or a trench-coat. "It doesn't matter," Constance continued, "a dress is a dress and a coat is a coat."

Rory smiled. The old bat had a point. "You're a young, pretty thing. You can escape – just don't forget about me."

She stifled a laugh. "I can't, my grandmother would have a fit." Rory grabbed another cookie and broke it in two, offering Constance the other half.

"At least the cookies are fresh," Constance chewed slowly and Rory thought that her five minutes of fun were up, but the soft old voice returned. "I should've listened to my grandson. He's in California and he's not coming back."

"California?" Rory was intrigued.

"His girl went there for school and he followed. Crazy boy proposed at Christmas and they were so excited they got married in Vegas the next day."

"Wow." A faint smile played at her lips. That did sound romantic.

"That's a McCrea for you…" Constance shook her head, "it can take a long time to make up a McCrea mind, but once it's made up – good luck changing it."

Rory didn't hear the last part , she was focused on McCrea. "Colin's married?"

"You know my grandson?"

"Um." Rory almost blushed at the thought of her curled up on Logan's couch listening to all of his and Finn's stories about the things those three had gotten into. But did she know him? No. "I've heard of him. We've got some similar friends…." And she hoped that the old bird wouldn't pry.

"You weren't one of his conquests, were you?" she peered over her glasses and inspected her.

"No, I was not."

"Too bad. I bet you would've had enough sense to get married with your family in attendance before skipping town." There was just a hint of bitterness in her tone. "And besides, you'd make a great granddaughter in law."

Rory could cry. Not because she was stuck in the hell that was the DAR, but because Colin's grandmother thought she'd make a great granddaughter-in-law. If only she knew, but Rory couldn't break the old woman's heart.

Grandma McCrea's words came back to haunt her that night. Rory had tried her hardest to forget her life in London, forget Logan, forget Finn, forget writing, just forget it all. But she couldn't. How she managed to avoid Logan in her youth was just a coincidence.

In fact, their circles were so intertwined they should've met a thousand times. Finn was at her "Summer Never Dies" party as a sixteen year old. She'd known Constance McCrea from girlhood, she'd just never placed that woman as Colin's grandmother.

She could've met Logan before Tristan. If Mitchum hadn't sent Logan away to London, they would've grown up together. Maybe it would've been them eloping in Vegas and giving Hartford the finger by moving to California?

Rory let go of the could've, would've, should'ves and focused on reality. For all of her running, Logan would catch up with her one of these days; it was unavoidable.

And so, that night she found herself kneeling beside her London boxes once more. She might not wear the clothes, maybe she'd donate them or something, or save a few piece, it didn't matter. What mattered was that she was unpacking the boxes tonight. She cleaned them out, one by one, faint stabs of pain mixed with small, but happy, smiles and it was healing. At the last box, another set of words came back to her. Logan's voice, yelling: "You like being the victim; you let yourself be the victim."

The impact of those words in the middle of the night hit her hard and her breathing began to intensify, but she wouldn't cry. Not tonight, because Logan was right. Even now, she was still playing the victim.

Logan didn't call her, so she had to go out.

If Logan had shown her better that he loved her, she wouldn't have been stressed out.

If Tristan never cheated, she wouldn't have been so insecure in the first place.

And then she wouldn't be in the DAR today.

She was the victim in this.

"Shut up," she said to the dark room. "Shut up." But her thoughts shifted.

If I had been honest with Logan from the start, he would've understood where I was coming from.

If I hadn't placed Tristan on a fucking pedestal I would've been better prepared for his (our? my?) downfall.

If I hadn't been so dead-set on being a bitch to Nicholas, I wouldn't have gone out that night.

If I had been honest to Mitchum and Emily, and Lorelai and Christopher, I wouldn't have let them bully me into the DAR.

In the crystal clear of the night, it became clear that it was her fault. At least some of it. At least in direct relation to the DAR. Admittedly, the line between her and Logan was too blurred to determine who held blame – maybe they both did?

"Hello?" It was late and on any other night, Mitchum would've let

* * *

it ring, but tonight he didn't.

"''ello? Is this Mitchum Huntzberger I've have to the pleasure to speak to?"

"Yes, um...who is this?"

"Finn, Mitch. May I call you Mitch?"

"No."

"Right, Mitch, I'm calling to talk to you about your son."

"What?"

"You know him, I'm sure. Perfect blond hair, sparkly brown eyes. The problem is, Mitch, is that his eyes aren't shining any more."

"Are you drunk?"

"No, mate. I can go get my vodka if that'll make this conversation easier for you…"

"No, no, carry on."

"Right, so what I was saying was that Logan's lost the sparkle in his eyes and the reason for that is tragic. Although, really, most things related to love are tragic, wouldn't you agree?"

"Love?"

"I know, Mitch, I didn't think it was possible for Logan to fall in love. Be in love. That boy – he's so cynical. Cosmo recommends asking probing question about his youth to get him to open up, but his youth – well you know all about his youth."

"Is this Rothschild's son?"

"Yes, that's me."

"And you're telling me that Logan is in love – with you?"

"No! What? I mean, I'm not opposed to man-love, but that's not me and if Logan were…to add unrequited love to the mix….Oh, that'd be extra tragic and the boy's already had so much heartbreak."

"So you're not gay?"

"No, Mitch. What makes you think that?"

"Rory…"

"…probably just made up a story because we were all living together. Nothing sexual. But Rory got sick and Logan moved her in here because he didn't trust her to take tea instead of coffee and drink her chicken soup and take her aspirin every four hours. He sat next to her for hours making sure she was okay, asking if she needed a doctor –"

"My son?"

"We've established that, yes. Keep up. This is an international call - it ain't cheap and Logan will be home soon – so anyway. Rory didn't move out after that. Logan would've let her if she wanted to, because of the rules and he's a gentleman, but she was lonely in her place and she and I were hanging out in the apartment when Logan was away at work. Still nothing sexual, honest. Actually, Mitch, this whole story is about love, so don't worry. Anyway, like I was saying, Rory was falling in love with Logan. And he with her. But Logan… he doesn't understand the ladies like I do and he was rambling on about rules and proper behavior and all that."

"Rules?"

"You know, treat like sister and that. And even if you hadn't established such foolishness he still would've held off on pursuing the relationship."

"He would have?"

"Absolutely. Logan…he didn't want to tarnish her reputation. He wanted her to be a Future Writer on her own merit, without him meddling. So he watched her from afar and she watched him from afar. It was like The Notebook or some epic film like that. Have you ever seen The Notebook?"

"No, can't say that I have."

"Well, bring tissues when you do, because you'll need them. In any case, that's why Logan didn't speak up when that Gemma girl won the trip to Paris. Oh, he planned it for them, him and Rory, I mean. Not Gemma. A flight to Nice, a special dinner at some fancy restaurant. All for a kiss! The boy is a romantic."

"Apparently."

"Anyway, he never got the kiss, because he had to go to Paris with Gemma and Rory, well, you know Rory. She doesn't take rejection very well. Because of…"

"I know why."

"Right. So that's why she came home. Left me. And him."

"And?"

"Are you daft, Mitch? Logan is not well. I've never seen him like this. All mopey, all moody. Depressed. No life left in his eyes. Desperate-like. He's no fun. He's all work and no play and I know you're all about work, Mitch, I'm sure you've seen his hard work reflected in your profits or what have you, but Logan is dying of heartache. And I haven't talked to Rory because, well, there was an incident with my phone and lost her number, but I know Rory and I'm sure her grandmother has her roped into society functions against her will. And that's not Rory, Mitch. You know it's not Rory. And this mopey-ness isn't Logan."

The line went silent for a moment and just as Finn was about to continue his ramble, Mitchum let out a deep sigh.

"He loves her? Really loves her? Not infatuated, not hot-pink Hollywood? But real, honest to goodness love? "

"Yes."

"Interesting."

"And…?"

"Thanks for the call, Finn."

"You're welcome, Mitch. And…"

"What is it Finn?"

"Thanks for the bailout in Australia – after the skate rink."

"No problem, Finn."

* * *

Rory was standing in the Huntzberger kitchen early the next morning.

"Geez, Rory!"

"I'm sorry I'm so early, Mitchum, but I wanted to talk to you before you left for the office," she explained, helping herself to another cup of coffee.

Mitchum blinked a few times, before making his way over to the fridge and pulling out an icy cold Coke.

Like father, like son.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Mitchum asked, his voice laced with tired tones.

Rory sought his gaze and kept it. "I wasn't entirely honest about what happened in London."

Mitchum nodded and his lips pulled into a smirk. "I know."

"You know?"

"I'm Mitchum Huntzberger, aren't I? The know it all?" Mitchum chuckled at Rory's confused expression, before he turned serious. "Your friend Finn called. He assured me, by the way, that he is very much attracted to the ladies, despite his obsession with Cosmopolitan Magazine."

Rory steadied herself at the counter. Finn called Mitchum? To talk about….oh god, the things Finn might have said. She granted Mitchum a small smile. "That sounds like Finn."

"Quite a character," Mitchum agreed again. And then, unexpectedly, a comforting smile. "So. Love."

Rory fixed her gaze past Mitchum, she was now fixated on the fridge. "Did Finn say that?"

"He would've said more, but I'd heard enough."

Rory blinked a few times, wishing she'd been on the line to witness that conversation. "Whatever he said, it's not true."

"What about Nice?"

Rory swallowed hard. "That may be true. But whatever he said about love isn't true."

"Really?" Mitchum was intrigued. He'd seen Rory grow up, all through the Tristan drama and the boy trouble that followed and he'd never seen her look at him like that. How her whole face flooded in pain and regret at the mention of Logan. It was love. "How do you know?"

"Because…" Rory thought she should try to deny that there was every any kind of love, but she didn't. She turned a new page, right? No more victim. "If I had loved Logan I wouldn't have done the things I did."

"Things?" Mitchum probed gently.

"Things I would've done in high school."

Mitchum pressed his index fingers together and held them up to his nose. "Ah. I see. It certainly would've been easier if Logan had seduced you and kicked you to the curb…"

"Yeah," Rory nodded, before meeting his gaze again, "Mitchum, don't be mad at Logan. Don't do anything – don't yell at him, don't take away his trust, or fire him…it was all me, not him."

"I see," Mitchum said. If he was surprised by her outburst/plea he didn't let on. And Rory knew that if Mitchum was going to "get mad" at Logan, he would do so anyway, regardless of her opinion. But still, he credited her for sticking up for his son – despite the fact that she wasn't in love.

Apparently, it whole thing was more serious and more complicated than he thought. He'd know for sure this afternoon. "Should I let him know that?"

"What?"

"I'm flying out to London at noon," Mitchum told her. "Quarterly meetings so I'm sure I'll see Logan."

For a moment she thought he was going to invite her along, but he just looked at her, waiting for her answer. "Oh, wow. I forgot about the meetings. You'll see Katie Nolan, too?"

"Managers at the quarterly, not writers," Mitchum reminded her gently.

"Oh, right. Must be all those DAR meetings…making me forgetful."

"Sounds about right," he grinned. "So, no messages?"

His eyes dropped to the floor where a case of Bacardi Gold stood at her feet. "I was going to mail that this afternoon," Rory explained, "Maybe you could give it to him?"

"Sure." Mitchum didn't want to ask, but did anyway, "any particular reason?"

"Just tell him that'll cover what he needs to have replaced," she shot him a look so he didn't ask anymore and she frowned. "And tell him I'm sorry. For everything."

* * *

**Finn to the rescue! And maybe Mitchum too? And he won't go all warm-and-fuzzy on Logan, but deep down he has his son's best interest at heart! **

**And I think I broke 100 000 words with this update! How did that happen? **

**Review if you are proud of Rory for owning up to her issues and if you think Logan will remain mope-y for a while. **


	22. Round Twenty Two: Instincts

**So, I've officially entered the working world. It's interesting, but not nearly as interesting as this story. **

**This may be a little fillerish (and a lot shorter than the last few chapters) but I wanted to get it posted since a) my writing time is literally notes written during my commute and b) it's the big segway to the next part of the story. **

**Thanks bunches and bunches for all of the love on the last chapter. Much love! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own gg**

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* * *

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Mitchum Huntzberger had always trusted his instincts. After all, those impeccable instincts were what made him the successful mogul he was today. Had he listened to Elias' plans he'd be heading Huntzberger Paper Presses, producing paper, rather than newspapers. Of course Elias had been mad when Mitchum broke the news that he'd be leaving the family business to pursue other interests. Elias stomped his foot and shouted, calling him an ungrateful traitor and threatened to slash him from the family will.

Shouting and threats didn't bother Mitchum. He was a millionaire in his own right thanks to his grandfather's inheritance. That and youthful opportunism was all he needed. Soon, Huntzberger Publishing Group acquired its first newspaper, and then another, and Mitchum sought out his father, with a business proposal. HPP would be the sole supplier of the paper HPG's newspapers were printed on.

Elias came round; Mitchum was re-emitted to the family will. Both business flourished. Instincts. It was what Mitchum relied upon and they'd never been wrong. And yet, as the corporate jet took to the sunny skies, he couldn't shake the feeling that his gut had been wrong this time.

Rory Gilmore in love? With Logan?

Mitchum didn't know much about love. Sure, in his younger years, he knew how to sweet talk any girl. He too had a slew of girls he kept around purely for entertainment purposes, but he never broached anything serious. Establishing a career was far more important, until it wasn't. He spotted Shira in a crowd and she smiled and the terribly abstract concept of love suddenly made sense. Deep down, and only to himself, could he admit just how much sense it made. Forty years and one son later Mitchum knew his gut had been right about that, too.

But Rory and Logan, they were different. Calculative and cynical about love. Neither ever letting on that they possibly ever wanted anything resembling a relationship.

Rory was twisted and bitter, but talented. Too talented to let it go to waste. Richard saw her spark and Mitchum aided in nurturing that talent. When the DuGrey boy came along it was unfortunate and her reaction extreme, but it was tolerated.

Mitchum couldn't remember why. Maybe Richard insisted? Or maybe her behavior hadn't been so out of the ordinary? After all, Logan was sleeping his way through London society, running up thousand pound bar tabs and flying off to exotic locations.

Logan was a master in sweeping girls off their feet, letting them believe in the fairytale before dropkicking them to the curb. Mitchum knew Logan had never met a girl with an ego the size of his and the same kind of selfishness, the same kind of guard that was always up. Logan's was natural and Rory's aggravated by circumstance but it was the same.

It never occurred to Mitchum just how similar they were. Maybe Rory's newfound good-girl attitude had fooled him. Surely, she'd outgrown whatever rebellion she experienced in her teens and with no prospect of Elias' inheritance, Logan would surely want to hold on to his trust. So, he put them together. To see Rory grow, but also to honor his promise to Richard.

Nothing more and nothing less. Never, not in a million years, had he expected two people so ignorant about love, to fall in love.

Was it really love? Mitchum tried to think. Had he missed anything? Were there any signs, some foreshadowing? Perhaps. Her calls to see more of her 'mentor', his consistently glowing reviews of her.

Mitchum rolled his eyes – there was no point looking back – and his thoughts turned to the present. Finn's call. That look in Rory's eye. And now London. He'd have to see Logan's face and then he'd know. Instincts.

* * *

A knock on the door forced Logan to mute the Dirty Jobs marathon he'd been watching. Somehow, watching Mike Rowe power wash a dead cow made him feel somewhat better about the sorry state of his life.

"Alright, mate" Finn said, "you know that deal. One more episode once the pizza has arrived and then we switch to the classic movie channel. Gone with the Wind is on all day."

Logan rolled his eyes and grabbed a fistful of bills from the coffee table. "Whatever." He walked slowly to the door, as if just placing one foot in front of the other was too great an effort.

"Large pizza, extra cheese," Mitchum greeted Logan. "Excellent choice."

Logan was too stunned to talk, too stunned to be offended by his father's tone (he'd heard the tone, right?). Mitchum's eyes scanned him, keeping his face void of any emotion. Mitchum had seen Logan at pretty bad times – at sixteen in the headmaster's office after being expelled for the sixth time in as many months, in the lawyer's office after the Hilton skate rink affair, and at HPG's Holiday Party three years ago – the first corporate event Logan attended - but never had Logan looked as bad, as fallen and dejected as this.

His gray sweats hung baggy around his legs, but the waist was a little snug; the otherwise hard lines of his abs were faded and the tiniest bit of belly was starting to protrude. Usual tan skin was pale. His tired face was bloated and dark purple circles framed his empty eyes.

Logan blinked a few times – accepting that his father was now at his doorstep – and took the pizza box from him. "Thanks."

He turned on his heel, not bothering to invite him in, but not turning Mitchum away as he followed Logan into the apartment. A bewildered smirk appeared on Mitchum's face. It was surprising how easy it was to enter Logan's place. However, the lack of fight was also telling.

Logan dropped the pizza box on the coffee table and left for the kitchen. He heard the hushed, urgent exchange between Finn and Mitchum, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Upon his return, Logan did manage to note how awkward and out of place Mitchum looked standing in his camel colored overcoat in the sleekness of his apartment. His lips twinged but didn't pull into a smile.

Logan handed Finn a beer and gave one to Mitchum. "Finn, my dad. Dad Finn." He took a swig of his beer and let himself fall back onto the couch.

"Thanks," Mitchum said, tipping his bottle at Logan, before taking a seat.

He mumbled something of an acknowledgement, sipped his beer, took a slice from the box and watched as a silent Mike Rowe take a chainsaw to the now-clean cow hide.

Finn and Mitchum exchanged a tense look. Finn silently urged Mitchum to speak up, but he wasn't going to. As Logan reached for his third slice of pizza and Mitchum nursed his beer, Finn cleared his throat.

"Mate, I'm going to retreat to the movie room."

Logan waited a beat, before turning to meet Finn's gaze. Maybe there was a hint of pleading – don't go! – in them, but if there was, Finn wouldn't let that stop him from giving father and son some much needed time.

"You know I want to see Rhett and Scarlett together in the jail scene. I've missed it twice today!" With that, Finn sprung up, tipped his beer bottle at Mitchum. "Was lovely to see you again, Mitchum," and walked off.

"Enjoy," Mitchum said with a curt nod, one that let Finn know that he understood. When Finn was safely out of earshot, Mitchum chuckled.

"He's a peculiar sort of a fellow, isn't he?"

Logan turned to him, slowly chewing his pizza and shrugged. Mitchum, not letting Logan's coolness deter him, tried again. "You know the Hartford rumor mill says he's gay?"

"Well, he's not." His tone was annoyed and tired.

"I know," Mitchum was quick to say and he stoked his chin, still a little unsure at how to handle Logan in his fragile state. "He, um…" he coughed, "…actually, Rory told me…."

Logan's jaw clenched and his body tensed up at the mention of her name, but he didn't speak.

"She made it up, actually," he chuckled, shaking his head, as if he were telling a cute joke and not an anecdote about a blatant lie. "Could you imagine Emily Gilmore's reaction if she knew her granddaughter was living together with two straight men?"

A spark of fire flickered in Logan's eyes and he scoffed. It was unbelievable that Mitchum approved of her lies – like she was a not-trained puppy. Yes, the pup shouldn't pee on the floor, but it's just so gosh-darn-cute!

"I think I could," Logan responded dully. After all, he knew how he had responded to her lies and he imagined that Emily was the type to blow a gasket or two. "She doesn't tolerate foolishness."

"We don't either," Mitchum said sternly, "her antics have landed her under Emily's supervision at the DAR, you know."

"Seems suitable," Logan shrugged. Had his father really flown half way around the world to discuss the painful subject of Rory?

"She stopped writing!"

Logan's eyebrows shot up, unimpressed. "Stopped drinking, too?"

Mitchum's jaw tightened and he was about to speak, but Logan cut in. "Look, Dad, why are you here?" Finally, there was some agitation evident in his tone. Perhaps not the emotion Mitchum wanted to hear, but it was an emotion none the less.

"The quarterly is tomorrow," Mitchum said gently, wondering if Logan had forgotten about it.

"I know that," Logan shot back, annoyed, "I mean, at my apartment. Talking about…" he drew in a sharp breath, "….things that are done. FTF is over. Katie Nolan won. If you are here to cut me out of the will and take my trust, just do it. I… I just don't care."

A smirk played on Mitchum's lips – his son not caring about money was a first. "From where I'm standing, son, you did not break any rules. In fact, I think this is the first time you adhered to them."

At Logan's confused expression, Mitchum rolled his eyes. "Your trust is safe," he clarified, his tone taking on a note of seriousness. "I actually have a business proposition for you."

Logan's eyes flew to Mitchum's. "What?"

"Production at the London Office had spiked over the last three months. I believe that is strictly down to your influence."

Logan downed the last sip of his beer. He should have known it was all business, all the time with Mitchum. That he was drowning himself in his work didn't matter, as long as production was up.

"So?" Logan asked, before trekking into the kitchen and returning with another couple of beers.

"Business is changing. Big things. HPG needs to innovate to stay relevant and we need to find the next big thing. I'm introducing an eight week project to find the next big thing. I'm taking current corporate talent and new talent and creating a task force Think of it as an eight week brainstorm session if you will. In New York, all expenses paid."

"And?"

"And?" Mitchum laughed, "I want you in. You've proven yourself out here Logan. Especially over the last three months. That kind of energy can only benefit the Task Force."

Logan cocked his head to the side, thoroughly confused. Was that actual praise from Mitchum Huntzberger? And what made ole Mitch think that he'd actually leave his London town to go stateside.

"I'm willing to negotiate, Logan," Mitchum said, "If you give me eight weeks of your time, I'd be willing to release you from your future HPG commitments."

"Meaning?"

"Eight weeks in New York and then you're free to leave."

"I'm not nineteen and gullible, Dad," Logan was almost offended, "What are the strings?"

"No strings. I'll have my lawyer make up a contract if you insist."

"I do," he shot his father a pointed look, "And Finn would have to come."

"Finn?"

"I can't leave him here – he'd trash the place. Besides, he's creative and quite possibly a new talent," Logan narrowed his eyes to slits, "and that is what you are looking for, right?"

"Right," Mitchum nodded slowly and realized that adding Finn to the mix would be beneficial. Another pair of eyes and another pair of ears. "You are absolutely right. Finn can come too."

Logan's eyes widened in surprise – since when was negotiating with Mitchum so easy? No fight, no yelling and screaming.

"So, we've got a deal?"

Logan waited a beat. His mind was so numbed and fuzzy, he really couldn't decide if Mitchum was offering a good deal or was screwing him over. But things in London weren't good and they weren't getting any better. Eight weeks in New York (and the promise of freedom) seemed like a welcome change. And Finn was going.

"What are you doing, Dad? You think letting me off the hook will make me want to stay?"

"I think that's something you'll have to decide for yourself. I'm done trying to force you."

"How…noble," Logan scoffed and a tense silence engulfed the men. Logan's mind was made up about Mitchum's offer (he'd take it – what did he have to lose? ) but the whole sequence of events felt off.

Had Mitchum come because he knew he was weak and likely to take the offer? But he started off talking about Rory. From the few statements, it was obvious that Mitchum knew much more about what had transpired than he let on and yet, he seemed to accept it. His trust was still intact, there was no screaming, Mitchum had even said Logan had followed the rules. What happened? What had Rory told him?

Logan locked eyes with his father once more. "What about FTF, Dad?"

Something flickered in Mitchum's eyes, but Logan couldn't place it. "It is what it is." Mitchum cleared his throat. "Rory wanted me to give you something. It's in the hallway. She said it would replace what she took. And that she was sorry."

"Me too," Logan said suddenly and without thinking and cursed himself immediately for letting his guard down in Mitchum's presence.

Mitchum stood up, just as unexpectedly as he arrived. "Let me know your decision tomorrow. You'll start in February." He touched Logan's shoulder in a surprisingly comforting gesture. "I'll see myself out."

Logan sat there on that damn designer couch, silent and expressionless. Mike Rowe had been replaced by one of the Mythbusters, but he was focused on a large cardboard box in his hallway.

How'd he missed it before? It didn't matter. What mattered was that it was Rory. He had just managed to rid his apartment of her presence and now she came crashing back in. And what did she think, anyway? That a gift would make up for the drunkenness and the Greek and the cringe-worthy come-on that followed? This wasn't crying on his T-shirt after Richard's funeral? A case of Coca-Cola didn't make up for the total implosion of his world. Hallmark didn't make a card for this!

He should send it back. Unopened, not caring. But he couldn't and he hated that his heart thump-thumped a little faster as her name passed over Mitchum's lips. Rory's in the DAR (suffering, like him). She's sorry (like him). Maybe she wants him back (no, in the first place).

"Fuck it," he told the empty room and scooted off the couch. Fresh beer and scissors in hand, he approached the box. One swift swipe was enough to separate the brown packing tape from the cardboard, revealing 10 bottles filled with a perfect honey colored liquid. Barcardi Gold. Rum. His favorite. Rum she used to do make-shift shots. Rum that he hadn't touched since she left.

He dug around for a note. One part of him desperately wanting to find one, the other part feverishly wishing there wasn't one and suddenly his mind flashed to her receiving her London boxes. No note. He'd told the housekeeper to back that manila envelope of notes with the coffee maker. He knew it'd hurt her more that way.

Sure enough, he found a small yellow envelope on the bottom of the box. A small daisy decorated the front. So sweet, so innocent and so very different from the connotation this note and gift carried.

_I know this can't replace all the damage I've done. Me, not you. I'm sorry. _

No joke, no facts, no cute little smiley face with which she usually signed her notes to him. It was honest. Heartbreakingly honest. And it pissed him off.

It was easy to write sorry, even easy to say sorry. But for all he knew, she was sorry that Logan came home when he did – sorry she was caught, sorry she was sent home, sorry that she didn't win FTF. Sorry for herself, essentially. And he figured, selfish as she was, that she was.

Logan crumpled up the note and tossed it in the trash. Rory could stew in her apologies. It didn't affect him. But he was keeping the rum. And he was eating that last slice of pizza.

* * *

"Mitchum!" Emily practically choked on her tea. "Weren't you in London?"

Mitchum cracked a smile, he loved catching Emily off-guard. "This morning. It was only a quick meeting, but I have some things I would like to discuss."

"About my granddaughter, I suppose?" There was a hint of coolness in her tone, but Emily still gestured for the maid to make tea for Mitchum and load his tray with some sweet snacks. "By all means, Mitchum, have a seat."

"Thank-you, Emily."

A perfectly tweezed cocked eyebrow let him know that this was no time for pleasantries. He gently broke a chocolate chip cookie in two and started. "I don't think Rory is doing well in the DAR."

Emily frowned. "She's doing just fine."

"She's managed to offend every member. Twice," Mitchum reminded her. "If it wasn't for you and Constance McCrea, who's taken a liking to her, she'd been ostracized."

"She needs some practice, but she'll get there."

Mitchum nodded slowly, "But she doesn't want to get there."

Emily threw her hands up in anger. "No, she wants to be in London doing God knows what with God knows who! I'd like to keep her under my supervision, thank you very much! Honestly, Mitchum, is that the way a girl of her stature should behave?"

"Absolutely not!" Mitchum agreed and leaned in a little closer, "What if I told you I could put her under my direct supervision?"

Emily lifted her tea cup, but put it down and narrowed her eyes to slits. "What are you driving at?"

"I'm starting new business in New York…" but Emily cut right in, "I've heard enough of your crazy ideas, Mitchum. That's how she ended up in London in the first place. It was good for her, you and Richard said, for her development, to hone her skills…."

"It's not a business," he backtracked quickly, "think of it more like a project. An eight week project."

"Eight weeks? Whatever can she do in eight weeks?"

"Come up with ideas for the company, but that's not the point, Emily. She's not happy where she is now, you can see that, can't you?"

He waited a beat for Emily to nod her head in a agreement and continued, "This would be a change of pace for her. Just a short one, but maybe the one she needs to commit fully to the DAR."

A small smile played on her lips, but quickly turned into a frown. "Or HPG?"

Mitchum drew in a sharp breath. "That'd be her decision, obviously."

"Obviously." Emily agreed and swallowed, "Richard would have wanted her to decide, wouldn't he?"

"I think so," Mitchum said softly and Emily sighed deeply. Eight weeks wasn't a lifetime and New York wasn't London. Mitchum would be watching her. And Richard would've wanted it. Finally, after a few moments of silent deliberation, Emily agreed that Rory would be in New York come February.

* * *

Late that night, Mitchum was still awake. Jet-lag, he'd told Shira and sneaked out of the bedroom, down to the kitchen and poured himself a rum-and-coke. A meddling, Hartford style deal had been made. He tricked Logan into thinking he was getting what he wanted, he'd tricked Emily to believe the same and he made Rory insanely happy, for now at least.

His meddling could cause a rift between the Huntzbergers and Gilmores forever, but knowing what Mitchum knew, and seeing what he saw, he doubted it. A Huntzberger Gilmore union was more likely and far more beneficial business wise. That it happened to be love made his meddling appear to be altruistic, but it wasn't. Why he hadn't thought to force the couple before, he didn't know. It didn't matter – he was trusting his instincts on this.

* * *

**Meddling Mitchum, always a pleasure. Maybe a little "As the World Turns" to have Rory and Logan meet this way, but, you know, this whole story has a good helping of soapy-drama, so it's okay. **

**Review if you are excited to see the Logan x Rory x Finn drama in the next chapter. **


	23. Round Twenty Three: Again

**My least favorite part of writing is these segways to the next bit of the story. Especially when I make you wait more than a month for them. Sorry. And you know how much I appreciate all the love for this story? Makes me feel extra bad for making you wait so long. Double sorry. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own GG **

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HPG's "New Initiatives Planning Group" kicked off with a breakfast social. From what Logan had understood the Planning Group was supposed to be a small group but diverse group. Journalists, business men, communications specialists, marketing gurus… all from different backgrounds, all working together to figure out the Next Big Thing for HPG to affirm its leading role in the market.

Logan was indifferent to his new corporate role; the only thing that made the trek across the Atlantic worthwhile was the promise of freedom at the end of the ride.

Finn had been downstairs socializing in a small ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria, while Logan was hiding out upstairs stalling; something about this whole set up wasn't quite right.

Mitchum had glossed over the whole London affair – never really even mentioned it to him, let alone get mad at him for the falling out that had occurred – and then showed up out of the blue with an offer to let him off the hook. Finn was allowed to come, no questions asked. And besides, since when did the company have a NIPG? What did that even mean?

At the time, Logan agreed but now, as he paced around his New York hotel room, he wondered whether it was all too good to be true.

* * *

Rory stood in the doorway of the Silver Ballroom watching the small gathering; lots of chatter, big nice-to-meet-you grins and handshaking. Harmless, really, and stuff she was an old pro at and yet she couldn't conjure up the courage to actually set foot in the room.

This was different, though. This silly little ballroom housed the most important function of her life because this, this was her last shot. If she fucked it up, even Mitchum's most powerful arguments could not save her from a future of fundraising and tea parties. What's more, she hadn't forgotten that look in Mitchum's eyes upon her return from London. It was the same look mirrored in her parent's eyes and Emily's too. Disappointment. And it stung, not quite as bad as that completely emotionless look Logan gave her, but enough to never want to see it again.

She'd do better this time, she'd be better. She'd fit in, she'd blend. No scenes, no sex. No Greeks. She'd just be Rory Gilmore, former features writer, here to help discuss New Initiatives, whatever the hell that meant.

But in order for that to happen, she'd actually have to get in the room and start socializing. From her hideout, she quickly scanned the room, nixing the idea of joining in with the sub-groups that had already formed.

Her eyes landed on a girl who stood at the breakfast buffet; the copper-colored pile of perfect corkscrew curls caught her eye. Half-up, half-down, cutting a cool, yet sophisticated look. Rory approved of her white-and-green Fendi floral shirt dress and was impressed that the girl teamed it with a string of pearls and shiny gray peep-toe Louboutins. Only a select few could stand at a breakfast buffet looking like a cross between Lucille Ball and Audrey Hepburn and Rory knew that it was due to an upbringing of a certain kind.

Rory didn't have time to wonder _why_ Mitchum added another Society Girl to the mix (all the gossip! and the last names!) instead, she watched as the girl's pale hand reach for the muffin basket and touched, by happy mistake, a tan one.

Typically, Rory didn't notice hands, but this one was familiar. Beautifully tanned, fingers long and slender, yet strong, with perfectly manicured nails. Her eyes darted up and suddenly she was confronted with the back of Finn's head.

There was no question about it; she'd recognize him anywhere. And was here now, in New York, not London, handing the new millennium's version of Lucy a chocolate muffin, while Rory stood numbed and motionless in the doorway, bathed in an uncomfortable cold sweat.

* * *

Logan had finally stopped pacing – he'd stopped as soon as he caught his reflection in the mirror. This, the pacing, the sweaty palms, the dry throat wasn't him; he wasn't the nervous, non-confrontational type, was he?

Maybe she changed that in him? Just like she turned him off the rum?

Ugh. He was sick of those evil little thoughts that crashed his mind so frequently, yet unexpectedly. Little pings of pain. Whatever. So melodramatic - he blamed her for that, too.

If nothing else, this project would keep him busy and he'd regain full control of every aspect of his life in eight weeks. He smiled a little cockily at that thought as he straightened his tie in the mirror and head for the door.

* * *

Finn was here. For her? No – she'd been deleted from his phone, from his life. Maybe he was here on business, maybe his dad had finally gotten through to him? Could she just walk up to him after everything that had happened? And, with Finn here, where was Logan?

While her mind jumped from question to question, her legs took a more proactive approach and before she knew it, she was at the breakfast table grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee.

Finn didn't notice and Rory knew instantly that he wasn't pretending; he was enthralled by the porcelain-skinned girl.

As much as she wanted to blend before, she was screaming to be noticed now. Reaching for a blueberry muffin, Rory accidently-on-purpose bumped into the girl and broke Finn's spell.

His body instantly tensed as he eyes widened. "Rory!" he squeaked, "Oh my god! Rory!" His tone was a mix of excitement and nervousness and his eyes nervously darted around the room.

Sighing and setting his eyes back on her, he cracked a smile. "What a surprise, love! What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same, Finn." It came out more harshly than she intended, so she followed up with a small smile.

The girl, who moments before was enjoying a fun and flirty conversation, suspiciously eyed Rory. "I'm just going to let you two catch up, " she announced in a soft Southern drawl. "I'm sure we'll be seeing each other around, Finn." Her rose colored lips pulled into a polite smile, before she vanished into the crowd.

* * *

Without hesitating, Logan entered the Silver Ballroom. Had he taken the time to glance around the room, he would've noticed the eclectic crowd Mitchum managed to put together for the NIPG, but his eyes were – almost forcefully – drawn to the buffet table and his heart dropped.

He should've known.

And he could've walked away right there – maybe that's what Mitchum wanted? Maybe all of this was just an evil ploy to keep him contractually bound to HPG? But he'd never be cut loose if he walked away right now. She'd win and he'd be stuck at HPG.

It only took him a few steps to cross the room and catch Finn's eye. Within a second, Rory's eyes met his.

"What's he doing here?" she bit at Finn, who was clearly stuck in a very uncomfortable position.

"Mitchum's New Initiatives Project," Logan stated matter-of-factly, and he scoffed as Rory's mouth popped open in surprised horror.

"What?" she demanded, fire in her tone, "Mitchum asked me."

"It's not always about you," Logan shrugged coolly, "Mitchum likes to torture me. Perhaps you don't remember seeing as how alcohol kills brain cells and all."

"It doesn't…it has to do with calcium…" she started off in an angry rant, but Logan clearly wasn't interested as he stepped past her and cast his gaze towards the stage.

"Mate…" Finn tried to smooth things over, but Logan shot him a death glare and Rory's brows were furrowed in anger. Not wanting this unfortunate encounter to escalate, Finn gave Rory a small sympathetic smile, before gently guiding Logan away from the buffet table.

As Mitchum took the stage and applause swelled, Rory was clenching her coffee mug so hard, her knuckles turned white. She was fuming – Logan was here! And he looked at her like that! It didn't make her palms sweat or her knees week – it made her angry. Angry that he was here, just like that, and that he dared to speak to her the way he did. As if it was her fault Mitchum invited her to join this program, as if he was the only one being tortured. What the hell had Mitchum been thinking?

She tried her best to put it to rest and focus on Mitchum's speech, but she couldn't concentrate on it.

Not with Logan in the room.

* * *

Mitchum's office was no stranger to tenseness. It was in this office contracts were signed, business deals negotiated, and next-steps and take-overs plotted out. Yet the air had never been quit this thick or the mood so explosive as it was this afternoon, with Rory sitting in a leather armchair across from Mitchum's intimidating mahogany desk. A moody Logan leaned against the wall, just really wanting _not_ to be there, and Finn stood in the center of the room, between Rory and Logan, his eyes locked to Mitchum's.

Before Logan could actually bolt, Mitchum cleared his throat. "I'm sure you want to know why I've called you here…."

Rory and Logan didn't bother to respond; neither wanted to buckle first.

"I'd kind of like to know, Mitch," Finn said with a shrug, "I mean, honestly, this is not at all what I expected…"

An agitated chuckle escaped Logan. "It's classic Mitchum, Finn. I should've known."

"What is, son?" Mitchum thoughtfully – provocatively – cocked his head to the side.

"This…" Logan made a vague gesture with is hand, "…was supposed to be no strings attached…."

Mitchum glanced around the room and shrugged. "I don't see strings."

Logan snorted. "Okay, yeah, sure," he nodded so hard, with so much pent up anger, Rory was afraid he'd punch the wall, "so we'll just pretend nothing ever happened."

"Logan…" Rory spoke for the first time and the emotion in her tone caught his attention. The anger that had been there before was gone, but it wasn't compassionate either. Maybe it was desperation? He noticed she had to take a couple of deep breaths as he put her eyes on her. He hated that he still affected her so, hated that it was so mutual.

"What happened in London happened and I apologized. I am sorry, but Mitchum is offering us this really great opportunity…"

Logan broke off his stare – so what? Now she was back to being Little Miss Perfect? Shoving London under the rug, like it didn't matter that she fucked another a Greek guy in his apartment?

"You put Mitchum up to this, didn't you?" he accused vehemently.

"Me? No! I…"

"Logan!" Mitchum boomed and Logan whipped his head toward his father. "What Dad? It's not like she never lied or manipulated before…."

"Logan, that's enough!" Mitchum pounded his fist on the table, "The three of you are here because I invited you based on you professional performances – whatever went on between you personally I don't know and quite frankly, I don't want to know. I'm a business man, not Dr. Phil."

Logan's eyes fell on Rory again (maybe he was a little sorry for accusing her) but she looked away. He let out a frustrated sigh. "So…?"

"You'll complete the program. It's only eight weeks. During business hours you'll conduct yourselves in a professional manner. None of this bickering and childish behavior and whatever happens afterhours is up to you."

"There won't be anything happening afterhours, Dad," Logan was quick to say and Rory added, in an almost offended tone, that she was focusing on her future. Their claims were met by an indifferent Mitchum. "Like I said, I'm not Dr. Phil."

"And after?" Logan asked.

"As we talked about: you'll be free to leave Huntzberger Publishing Group," Mitchum sighed, as if was agreeing to something trival.

"I want legal to put that on paper."

"If you feel that you must…"

"I do," Logan said with a firm nod.

"Very well then. You know where legal is."

With that, Logan quickly made his way for the door. A shiver went down her spine as the door slammed shut. Finn coughed – he'd been so quiet during this little meeting that Rory had almost forgotten he was there. "I'm sorry – I – Rory…I'm so sorry," he tried to find the right words to apologize, to let her know that he wasn't mad at her, that their friendship could still be salvaged, but he couldn't. "I have to go find Logan…"

"Legal is down the hall and the first door on the left," she told him and he smiled gratefully. As soon as the door slammed closed again, she turned to Mitchum. "You could've told me."

"You would've refused," Mitchum stated simply. "It'd be tragic to let you wither away at the Daughters of American Revolution."

Rory leaned back in her chair and sighed. It would be tragic, indeed, but wasn't this torture much worse than anything she could ever endure at the DAR? Sometimes she wondered how Mitchum's mind worked.

"You'll really release Logan from his contract?" she asked curiously. "Why?"

Mitchum took a sip of his coffee as he contemplated Rory's question. "I'm hoping he'll change his mind about things – eight weeks is enough time to give him some perspective on what HPG can really offer him…."

"Right…" Rory said slowly – a lot _could_ change in eight weeks, "what about Finn?"

"Finn is a good man," Mitchum smiled wisely, "a much better man than he portrays himself. Logan thinks I did him a favor, but in all honesty, I think Finn is a good asset, wouldn't you agree?"

Rory smiled wryly as she thought about how lucky Logan was to have Finn as a friend.

"Yeah, he really is."

* * *

**So. **

**We've got one mad Logan and one mad Rory. Also, one confused and love-struck Finn. One still-meddling Mitchum. One new society girl. One important telephone conversation Logan and Rory don't know about. And the start of one new program. And about eight fan fiction weeks to sort it all out. **

**Review if you wish I could finish this story in eight human weeks! Ha! **


	24. Round Twenty Four: Figuring it Out

**Today I baked carrot cake muffins and wrote this. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own GG**

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* * *

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And just like that Rory Gilmore was back in his life**.**

For the past four months, he'd been fighting her in every way possible. Her stuff? Packed up by a maid and shipped across the Atlantic. Finn's quips? Ignored. Images of her - the good ones, the smiles, the shine in her eyes, her hand raised and ready to answer his questions, all of them were banished to the depths of his mind, while he let the bad ones stew; those were the ones he battled with.

Logan had let them take over and made them something they weren't. It was easier to let them define and overshadow his entire co-existence – 'relationship' was too big of a word – with her. It was easier to theorize that he'd always been fighting her, from those first flirty moments of tantalizing battle to all of those stupid Mitchum imposed rules.

The image of an evil monster lost its harsh edge as soon as he saw her at the Breakfast Social. For the tiniest moment, she was just Birkin, Ace, Rory. And she was sorry and oddly peaceful in the sense that _she _seemed okay with the aftermath and ready to cope.

It was a maturity that he'd yet to see and he was too afraid to trust. For sure Mitchum arranged something; her shocked expression told him otherwise. She may be an actress, but even she wasn't that good, but he'd given her the benefit of the doubt anyway.

Logan was sure Mitchum played a role in this. He had a sleepless night trying to figure it out but by morning he hadn't reached a satisfactory conclusion. As he continued to let the theories swirl in his mind during the short walk to the HPG Office, Finn rambled on about his latest love interest. Logan knew Finn long enough to know all of the appropriate places to nod, and sigh, and hum in approval.

She had the prettiest red hair he'd ever seen. Nod-nod. Her name was Aubrey Andrews. Hum. Of Andrews Urban Designs, the guy who designed the country club? Nod. Mitchum had invited her and her dad had to convince her to go, because she doesn't really like the big city. Sigh. And her skin? And those eyes? Sigh. So perfect. Hum.

"Oi, Mate!" Finn stopped suddenly and his voice dropped to a whisper, "there's Rory!"

Logan didn't need Finn to point that out for him – he'd seen her, arms resting casually on the banister of the landing overlooking the lobby, observing the hustle and bustle of the HPG morning crowd.

He couldn't help but notice how regal she looked standing there, in her gold-buttoned green pea coat, for all of the eye can see under her command.

"Be nice," Finn warned as they approached her. Logan shot Finn a sideways glance and huffed.

"Hello love!" Finn's pleasant tone startled her but she put on a brave face. "Hey, um, hi."

"Forgot we'd be joining you?" Logan asked coolly, but he added a small smile as he felt Finn's warning eyes on him.

"No, I didn't…" Rory trailed off, awkwardly biting her bottom lip and looking away. Her tone lacked the edge his had and even though Logan could tell she wanted to say more, she wasn't going to.

She really looked done; he'd won. She wasn't going to try to change his mind or win him back or apologize any longer.

He cocked his head to the side as he sighed. "Look, Rory…" He ran a hand through his hair, before resting his hand next to hers on the bannister. Her gaze shifted from the floor to his hand, so close next to hers, but still too far away to touch. "I just really want to keep this professional…"

"Me too."

"So, whatever happened in London and in Mitchum's office…" He shrugged, looked away and drew in a sharp breath, "I don't want to add unnecessary drama to this Planning Group…"

"Me neither."

"So…"

"…maybe we should just start over?" she suggested, and he hated that she beat him to the punch. As if it gave her control.

Besides, they weren't supposed to _have_ to start over. A long time ago, in that sandwich shop across the street, he'd promised her it was the last time they'd have to (whoever thought of three times the charm was clearly out of his mind).

He gave her a wry smile, "Strictly professional."

Her nod confirmed their agreement and Logan let go of the bannister. "What happened to Finn?"

"Um," Rory looked around, but the boy was nowhere to be found "wasn't he just here?"

Logan shrugged and a tiny chuckle escaped him. "Maybe he wanted to get a good seat in the conference room? It's down this hall and to the left…"

He started walking and she followed him. To the outside world, they looked like two co-workers on their way to a meeting.

Strictly professional.

* * *

Finn was seated next to the porcelain-skinned girl. "That's why we couldn't find Finn," Logan whispered to Rory as they entered the room and she couldn't help but smile at this bit of information he divulged to her.

"Hey Finn," she said as she sat down in the empty seat next to him, while Logan took the empty seat next to the girl.

"Oh, hey, hi," Finn stumbled, caught off guard, before laughing at his own awkwardness. He cleared his throat. "Aubrey, I'd like to introduce you to my good friends…" he tipped his head forward, "Mr. Logan Huntzberger…" and gestured "Miss Rory Gilmore."

Aubrey leaned over and shook Logan's hand. "Aubrey Andrews, so very nice to meet you, Logan."

"The pleasure's mine," Logan replied, suppressing a smirk. This perfectly poised girl was so very different from Finn's usual type.

"Rory, I believe we've met?" Aubrey asked, as she turned to formally introduce herself to Rory. Both of the boys heard that Aubrey's tone had cooled considerably.

"Hmm, yes, we have, at the breakfast social the other day," Rory gestured vaguely, before shaking Aubrey's hand. "It's so nice to meet you."

"Right," Aubrey nodded, dragging out the word in her Southern drawl, making it sound as if she wasn't so sure.

Finn exchanged an uneasy glance between the members of the group. "Aubrey's dad designed all of the country clubs between South Carolina and Connecticut," he offered.

Rory's eyebrows shot up – she knew that girl was from Society! – and her eyes flickered with recognition. "That wouldn't be Bobby Andrews, would it?"

"Yes..." Aubrey eyed her suspiciously, "...but most folks know him as Robert Andrews. You've met?"

"'Rory isn't most folks," Logan muttered, but Rory chose to ignore it. "Just once," she shrugged instead, smiling a little at the memory. "He helped my grandfather design an astronomy building. They kind of donated it to Yale in my name."

"Impressive," Logan chuckled sarcastically, "What they call it? The Rory Gilmore Astronomy Building?"

At Rory's silence, Logan laughed a little louder. "You're kidding?"

"Oh, Logan," Aubrey grinned, "you know Bobby Andrews doesn't do words like Mitchum!"

Logan shrugged but couldn't hide his surprise. "You know Mitchum?"

"Just by acquaintance," Aubrey rolled her eyes, "daddy thought it'd be good for his little girl to taste some big city life..."

"So what's your talent?" Logan asked bluntly, "For the NIPG, I mean?"

"I design clothes," Aubrey shrugged as if it didn't really matter, "I suppose Mitchum thinks I'm very creative…"

"Me too," Finn chimed in. "I'm creative! And Rory and Logan know the industry to the core. With their knowledge and our creative minds, we'll be like the fantastic four."

Rory looked away uncomfortably and Logan rolled his eyes, but Aubrey smiled and her eyes sparkled. "Perhaps."

Logan glanced around the room; there were fifteen people at most and he recognized the better part of them from various corporate functions over the years. Some were from IT, others from Marketing or Content, but all were from HPG. So much for the promised diversity.

Aubrey was here because Mitchum did Bobby Andrews a favor, just like he'd allowed Finn to join as a favor. The only reason Logan was here was because Mitchum presented him with an offer he couldn't refuse. Mitchum must've offered Rory something. But what? And why? He wasn't selfless, he'd want it to be beneficial for him, too. And Logan was doubtful that the NIPG would actually produce a plan that could actually work.

A plump white haired woman entered the room. "Hello!" she shouted and the chatter died down.

"Good morning, lovelies," she said, "Most of you should know me as Marci, the comfortably chubby lady with the crazy white hair, who works for the scary man in the corner office…" she smiled as the group laughed a little, "…and I'm here to give you your work instructions, provide you with some hot delicious coffee and herbal tea, for those who don't drink coffee – I'm looking at you, Logan dear."

Logan threw his head back in laugher. "But you like the view, don't go denying it, Marci!"

"Ooh, you just put the smirk away. It's distracting!" She waved her hands around, "And you can't afford distractions. You've got work to do!" She handed one of the IT-people a stack of papers and told them she'd be back to let them know when they could go on lunch before leaving the room.

"Well, alright," Logan said as he took one of the papers off the stack, "let's do this."

* * *

It was one o'clock before Marci signaled it was time for a well-deserved break. Logan smiled gratefully at Marci and directed himself to the group.

"Alright, great job this morning. We'll carry on this afternoon."

After a brief introduction round, it was obvious that Logan was to take the leader role. It made sense, as he had the experience but more so because it was clear none of the clowns his father asked to join the group were really competent. It turned out they'd all been selected for their "creative talent", which further cemented Logan's suspicion that Mitchum was up to something.

Finn and Aubrey seemed blissfully unaware, but he could tell that Rory was somewhat disappointed with the way the NIPG turned out. Mitchum must've painted her a beautiful picture, while in reality it was a paint-by-numbers masterpiece. Logan knew, because Mitchum had told him the same.

Regardless whether his volunteering for the leader role stemmed from masking his disappointment about the program, or to stave off thoughts of Rory, he was determined to make the project group successful.

The group shuffled out of the conference room and down the hall to another, which had been turned into a lunch room. Mitchum had decided that lunch would be catered and that the team would break together, supposedly so that if one of the members had a sudden breakthrough the group could get back to work.

On paper, it sounded doable, even if a little compulsive, but to Logan it was just more mandated time he had to spend with Rory. Strictly professionally, of course.

He quickly grabbed a cream cheese and cucumber sandwich, a bottle of water and an apple and joined the small group of guys Finn was eating with.

"Where's Aubrey?"

"Bathroom," Finn replied, before taking another bite of his roast beef sandwich, "Mitchum's really knows where to get a good sandwich, huh?"

"There from this place across the street," Logan shrugged, "I'm pretty sure Marci picked 'm out."

And before Logan could ask Finn if he noticed anything weird about this whole set-up (when had Mitchum _ever_ catered a normal work-day lunch before?), one of the IT-guys joined in with a funny story about Marci.

* * *

Women's restrooms were dangerous places. It was here where the line between competiveness and kindness was the finest. In an emergency, even your worst enemy would probably pass a tampon under the bathroom door stall. Nevertheless, friendships could break after a single restroom visit – ill-timed gossip – but often times, unbreakable bonds were formed over bathroom counters.

Rory and Aubrey silently stood at the sink, washing their hands. Every so often, one would look in the mirror to sneak a peek at the other.

Aubrey seemed like a sweet girl, but Rory couldn't figure out why she'd been so cold to her. Smiling wryly, she realized that she'd probably heard the gossip and understood that Rory Gilmore was not the type of girl good-girls like Aubrey Andrews should associate with.

"It's true," Rory said suddenly, breaking the silence and she caught the girl's confused expression. "Everything you've heard about me, that's all true."

Her words echoed in the otherwise empty bathroom and Rory watched as Aubrey's two perfect copper-colored eyebrows furrowed as she dug around in her make-up bag. A triumphant smile flashed briefly as she found the lipstick she was looking for.

"I haven't heard anything about you, nothing that'd I'd hold against you at least…" she smirked, before popping the cap off the tube of bright red Estee Lauder. "The police would've been at my house to arrest me for murder if some guy cheated on me at my party."

She let out a small chuckle and proceeded to touch up her lips.

"Oh." Rory fiddled with her silver necklace. "I just thought…"

Aubrey turned to her and placed her hand on her shoulder. "Finn's not your boyfriend, is he?"

"Finn?" Rory choked out, taking a step back, "Never, not in a million years!" Catching the offended expression that was creeping across Aubrey's face, she backtracked a little. "I didn't mean it like that. Finn's a really nice guy – too nice, really, but um…." She trailed off, not really wanting to get into the twisted details of their relationship, "…I guess he's like a brother to me."

"Oh." A sheepish smile tugged at Aubrey's lips.

"Why?"

Aubrey tossed her lipstick back in her make-up bag and tossed that in her Gucci bag. "No reason," she shrugged. "Do you want to get lunch together?"

* * *

Logan was thoroughly bored with the conversation at his table and Finn wasn't providing any relief as he'd been staring at a table at the far side of the room, while Logan did his best to avoid it.

Aubrey and Rory were having lunch together.

Just another thing Logan couldn't figure out. This morning they were two society queens, polite but ice dripping from their tones and now they were BFFs. He heard Finn sigh a dreamy sigh.

"Just go talk to her, man. You are drooling all over your sandwich and I'd still like to eat mine."

Finn turned back to Logan, cocking his head to the side. "Nothing's wrong, Finn," Logan said in answer to Finn's not-asked question. "Just go talk to the girl."

Shaking his head, Finn pushed back his chair and made his way across the room.

"Ladies," he said, casually leaning against the table, "how's lunch?"

Aubrey put down her BLT and patted her mouth with her napkin before looking up at Finn. "It's delicious. Mitchum really takes good care of his employees, doesn't he?"

Rory looked down at her not-enough-ham-and-cheese sandwich. "Wherever Marci ordered these, their meat-to-vegetable ratio is way off."

Finn sighed a little as Rory echoed Logan's sentiments, but he smiled at Aubrey. "Miss Andrews, I could talk to you all day, but would you mind if I stole Rory away for a moment?"

Her gaze dropped to Rory and she shook her head. "Not at all. You may even take my seat – if you excuse me, nature calls." She shook her empty glass around. Finn nodded understandingly and, like a gentleman, he helped her with her chair.

Rory noted the meaningful glances they exchanged, but waited to comment until he sat down.

"So," Rory drew out as she leaned her elbows on the table, "Aubrey, huh?"

Finn couldn't suppress the immediate grin. "But that's not why I came over here, love."

Rory raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Not the _only_ reason."

"I see."

Finn cleared this throat and put his eyes on her, signaling it was serious. "I wanted to apologize."

"Apologize?"

"For a couple of things…"

"Finn…" Rory exhaled deeply, as if to expel the guilt that bubbled up inside . "You couldn't have stopped me at that club. Once I got it into my head that that Greek guy was coming home, not even Logan on a white horse could've changed my mind."

"I know," Finn nodded. "But I should've called… I was with a girl about the same time you were with the Greek."

"Scotland?"

He laughed a little uneasily at the memory. "Turns out she was just from London and absolutely out of her mind. She couldn't stop calling, she'd leave messages describing what she had for dinner…"

"Well, your pretty irresistible," Rory said with a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

"I had to get a new phone and I lost your number."

"Finn, I know you're on Logan's side…" she covered his hand with her own and patted it. "I get it. You don't have to make up a story."

"It's not a story!"

She let go of his hand and crossed her arms – in the grand scheme of things it didn't really matter if he was telling a story or not, Finn hadn't called. But maybe he should have, if he really was that sorry.

"You could've found my home phone number or my address…" she suggested off-handedly and suddenly her tone turned bitter. "Or slipped in a note with those boxes Logan sent."

Finn coughed at the sudden harshness. "He was not well when he made that decision."

Rory's eyes grew wide as her instincts kicked-in. "You called Mitchum."

"He told you? He wasn't suppose to!"

"Before he flew off to London for the quarterlies…." Rory nodded deeply as all of the dots suddenly connected. Finn's phone call was what prompted Logan's invite to the NIPG. Not giving her one last chance to break out of the DAR, not to release Logan from his contract.

It was just a ploy to get them together.

Shock grew to absolute horror as Finn listened to Rory's explanation. "Oh, love, I hadn't realized he'd plan this elaborate program and invite Logan, too! I just thought he'd have a rational talk with his son."

"Mitchum and Logan don't talk," Rory shot back and Finn sighed. "I can see that."

The two shared a moment of silence, each analyzing this bizarre situation they found themselves in.

"He thinks I'm the one who convinced Mitchum, you know…"

Finn knew if he fessed up to Logan, their friendship would be bruised (not broken), but more importantly, Logan would call the whole thing off. Rory knew that, too. Though for her ditching the program might be sweet relief, for him it'd be horrible.

"So what if Logan calls it off? We're not doing anything, Finn!"

Finn studied her annoyed face. "You'd rather go back to the DAR?"

Her head dropped to her chest. "No!" And she looked up, "but this is a waste of time!"

"Not for me," Finn said earnestly, as he scanned the room for his porcelain-skinned princess while Rory looked over her shoulder and saw a solemn looking Logan picking at his sandwich.

"Alright," Rory gave in with a heavy sigh. "Don't tell him. It's only 8 weeks - it's...it'll be ok."

"Thank-you, love," Finn smiled brightly. "Besides, he might come around."

"We've decided to keep it professional for the sake of the program," Rory announced numbly, but Finn could only muster a hum of disbelief as he caught Aubrey's smile.

"And I suggest you do the same," Rory muttered under her breath.

* * *

**Alright. So! Rory and Finn are back to being friends and they are both on to Mitchum, but also quite content to play along (Finn more than Rory, obviously). And poor Logan only suspects. But my boy is smart and confrontations all the way around are bound to happen. **

**Thanks so much for all the love in the reviews! Totally makes me smile! Review if you think Miss Aubrey is gonna break Finn's heart. **


	25. Round Twenty Five: One Week

**So this is kind of another transitional chapter (and you know how I feel about those...) and this is kind of choppy, but I had this movie-montage image stuck in my mind and I just went with it. Hope you like? **

**Disclaimer: I don't own GG **

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* * *

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_Strictly professional_.

Logan hated how his relationship (okay, yeah, so he was back to calling it a relationship, whatever) was marked by silly rules. Treat like sister, be a mentor, keep your distance, don't get involved.

And here he was staring at the back of her head in some corporate cafeteria more fucking involved than ever.

**MONDAY **

Frustrated because of the analyzing, Logan switched back to the mode he knew the best: work to be distracted. By the time the other team members returned from their lunch breaks, Logan had positioned the tables in their room in the shape of a U.

Rory knew that in London this was Logan's brainstorm/discussion group set up, but she didn't dare ask him here in New York. Instead, she took a seat next to Aubrey.

"What's all this?" Ian, one of the IT-guys asked and Logan turned to him, lips pursed, eyes hard. "I figured we'd do a structured discussion group, unless you had a better idea?"

Aubrey leaned in to whisper in Rory's ear, "Ouch", and Rory nodded in agreement.

Fortunately, she'd never been on the receiving end of Logan's classroom glare, but she'd seen in used plenty of times on Nicholas.

"That's what I thought," Logan said with a curt nod, "so a discussion group it is. Our mission is to create something new and innovative to keep HPG's leadership position in media. Basically, Mitchum is asking us to think ahead of the trend."

"But that sounds a bit vague," Ian interjected, subjecting himself to another one of Logan's looks. "You think?"

Ian raised his hands defensively, "I'm just saying that orders from above are usually more specific."

Logan mumbled something of agreement and he hated that there was this doubt among his peers; it did nothing to soothe his inkling that this project group was something more than what Mitchum made it out to be.

"Well," Rory's soft voice cut through the budding tension, "I guess we could start looking at current trends and maybe take it from there?"

Logan's head spun around and his eyes landed on her. "You guess?" he asked unimpressed.

Rory kept her gaze on him – watching his expression harden even further – but she couldn't not look at him.

"I do," she said without wavering. "I've never done this before, so I'm just suggesting _something_ and hoping for the best."

"Hoping and guessing?" he scoffed at the subtext ("something" was about "them", right?) "Look, we've only got eight weeks to answer Mitchum's question and guessing and hoping really doesn't do us any good…" he crossed his arms over his chest and briefly looked around the room, as if he was challenging each of his group members, before he settled on her again. "Let's agree to stop guessing and start knowing. Rory, next time you make a suggestion _know_ what you want to do."

Her jaw clenched and her eyes revealed her sudden anger, reminding him that she didn't want to be here anymore than he did. Before either one could speak, Aubrey piped up.

"Oh Logan," she drawled sweetly, "we all know Rory knows what she's talking about, why get so technical about the wording? I, for one, think it's a marvelous idea."

Finn turned to Aubrey and smiled. "Marvelous indeed…and did you know that news via social media is the biggest trend right now…"

And with that, the group had dove into a conversation about Facebook and Twitter and the brainstorm ball started rolling.

Rory's eyes met his one last time that day – a split-second – confusion and anger in his; hers reserved disappointment and both contained a sadness that neither could (would) acknowledge.

* * *

**TUESDAY **

Logan knew Monday's approach to keeping it professional had failed horribly. He'd managed the rest of the afternoon with a broody stance and he hated it.

Logan Huntzberger did not brood – he acted up, he got drunk, he drained hotel pools and turned them into skate rinks, but this, this angry, emotional guy wasn't him.

He spotted her early Tuesday morning, arms resting over the bannister, same green coat, same regal mannerism about her and he handed her a cappuccino.

She took it, the right corner of her mouth pulling upwards in a smile as she warmed her hands around the cup, before popping the lid and slurping up some milk foam.

"Good coffee?"

She nodded, deeply and appreciatively as she knew that this was some sort of peace offering. "Yeah."

"Good," he said with one short nod and he dug his hands in his coat pockets. "I'm going to…" he cocked his head towards the class room.

She bit her bottom lip and nodded again, as if she was granting him permission to leave. Even though he did not need it. Or wanted.

Honestly, Rory had no clue what he wanted. Or, for that matter, what _she_ wanted. But she was pretty sure neither of them wanted to be stuck in a cycle of short, awkward conversations compiled of nods, yeahs, and sighs.

The group had another morning of heated discussions, though Logan and Rory were both unusually silent. Nevertheless, they joined the group in a heavy sigh as Marci told them they could break for lunch.

As if they'd known each other forever, Rory and Aubrey gathered their empty coffee cups and notes and headed towards the door for lunch.

"Ladies, may I accompany you to our lovely cafeteria?" Finn asked, making sure to direct his question more to Aubrey than Rory.

Aubrey smiled as she tugged at a loose curl. "Rory?"

"By all means," Rory smirked as Finn breathed a dramatic sigh of relief, before turning to Logan.

"You coming to lunch, mate?"

Aubrey gave Rory a sideways glance, but Rory's face was emotionless.

Coffee-peace-offerings and brainstorm sessions were one thing, having a cordial, professional lunch was entirely different.

"You know what?" Logan sighed, "I've got a couple of phone calls to make...to, uh, London, you know? So, I'll just go grab a sandwich…"

He brushed past the three of them, a half-apologetic /half-relieved smile on his face.

Finn looked at Rory and he raised his left eyebrow suspiciously, "So that's how you're keeping it professional?"

"He's got phone calls to make," Rory replied flatly, carefully looking over her shoulder to Aubrey for support but she just frowned. "That's what I would guess, but I know better."

* * *

**WEDNESDAY **

Logan was glad he had managed to skip out on yesterdays lunch. He thought he was pretty clever for using "phone calls to London" as an excuse. No one questioned his motives, at least not openly. Maybe he could use "follow-up calls" as a cover for avoiding today's lunch.

Since his peace-offering, there hadn't been any conference room tension between them. Thankfully, the group was chatty and lots of ideas flowed freely. He barely had to talk and Rory really did not push herself to the foreground too much.

She wasn't competitive like she was in FTF, she didn't need to let everyone know she had the right answer all the time. It appeared as if she'd really changed.

Occasionally, as his thoughts drifted to Mitchum and figuring out what he was plotting, his gaze voluntarily went to Rory. He was never quite sure how long he'd be looking at her, but suddenly an uncomfortable sensation would come over him, as if he was being watched, and then he realized that she was looking at him, too.

In his mind, he glossed over these awkward moments and thought his otherwise-ignoring-her approach was working out okay; sustainable for the next 7 weeks and 2 days.

* * *

**THURDSAY **

By now it was obvious that Logan ditching them during lunchtime was part of some twisted code of conduct Logan had established.

"Phone calls again, Logan?" Aubrey asked in a voice that was accusatory, but sweet at the same time. Finn suppressed a laugh and Rory was impressed that this girl called him out on his bizarre behavior. She'd been dying to ask him why he was looking at her _all the time_ and if he could stop looking, please, because really, him looking at her with those eyes (why always _those_ eyes?) was just too much.

He laughed politely. "Errands, actually," Logan excused himself and headed for the elevator.

"Let's get some lunch, love," Finn gently put his arm around her and tried to steer towards the cafeteria, but Rory stopped him.

"You guys go ahead," she said distractedly, "I'll catch up."

The elevator doors were about to close just as she slid in and Logan cursed under his breath.

"So, errands?" she asked; it was meant jokingly but it came out sounding hurt.

"Dry-cleaners, the bank, post-office, you know…" he listed dully, but she saw right through him

Rory took a step closer to him and her voice dropped to a whisper. "I know you and I are the type of people that employ people to do that kind of thing."

"Touché," he said and he couldn't help the smirk that temporarily captured his face. He'd hoped that she'd laugh too, at least a little, considering their bizarre situation, but she didn't.

"Look," he said finally, "I figure taking myself out of the lunch equation makes things easier."

"How so?"

"If I joined you for lunch, Finn and Aubrey would become a sub-group. He's practically planning the wedding as we speak, you know how he is…"

It sounded vaguely nice, as if he was protecting them from further potential awkwardness, but Rory took it as an insult.

"So, having to eat lunch with me is that horrible to you? So much so, that you'd rather avoid the whole situation."

Logan scoffed, shaking his head. "I'd rather have Finn avoid another disastrous love affair."

Rory's mouth dropped open in offence, "Aubrey is a total sweetheart…"

"…which is code for total bitch," Logan reminded her in a mocking tone.

"I _mean_ it," Rory stressed, "she's lovely."

Still, Logan wasn't impressed. "Just like Gemma?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Fed up, not wanting to go down _that_ bumpy road again, she rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Logan. Finn is just optimistic about love and maybe Aubrey is the real deal."

He snorted at her serious expression. "I'm not going to touch that one with a ten foot pole."

A brief moment of tense silent passed between them, but Rory couldn't take it. "So you're going to pretend to pick up your dry-cleaning? Real mature."

Logan leaned back against the bannister, casual, as if this whole thing left him unaffected (somehow he felt better knowing that _she _was the one affected by his lunchtime absence.) "I'd prefer professional. And, while we're on the subject, what are you doing here? Arguing in the elevator with me, I mean?"

"I'm not arguing," she spat back, too heated, too quickly for someone who wasn't arguing. "I just wanted…I'm getting some iced tea at Jake-and-Jacques' across the street."

"Jake-and-Jacques' caters the lunches, you know," he patronized her, "the iced tea upstairs is exactly the same as the kind you'd get across the street. I thought you knew, considering how their meat-to-vegetable ratio is off and all."

His words sounded so bitter, but somewhere, deep-down, she couldn't deny that she liked the fact that he remembered her feelings regarding Jake-and-Jacques' sandwiches.

And she immediately hated herself for making something so insignificant so important

"I wanted it fresh," Rory said, hoping that it sounded sincere and thankfully Logan didn't pry – he was too busy gloating that he'd won this round (apparently, counting points had made a grand return in his mind, too).

* * *

**FRIDAY **

"Rory! Rory! Rory!"

If it hadn't been for the Southern drawl, Rory would've ignored the multiple calls. This morning, she was in no mood for people. This week had been pretty bad and it looked like her weekend wasn't going to be much better.

"Oh, Aubrey, hi!"

"You know, for a girl who says she doesn't run you manage to walk very fast, especially on…" Aubrey bent her knees and dropped her head to examine Rory's shoes, "…velvet Dior wedge boots. I approve!"

Rory smiled a little, "You sure look happy this morning."

"If I do, it's because I am," she smiled brightly. Before Rory could make a quip about Finn, Aubrey shoved a big cream envelope in Rory's hand.

"Oh please tell me you received on too? You just have to, because, well, you are the belle of the ball here, aren't you?"

Rory sighed, wearily handing the envelope to Aubrey. "Yeah, I got one."

"But you aren't happy?" Aubrey was genuinely confused, "The Metropolitan Museum of Art's Fundraiser kicks off Events Season."

"Which means 10 weeks of envelopes, Aubrey," Rory said glumly. "It's the same people, the same food, the same drinks, just different venues."

Aubrey examined the envelope again, but didn't see the same evil Rory saw. She pulled it close to her chest and hugged it. "It's my first invitation to a North East charity event! It's exciting, it's cosmopolitan, it's special, it's why my Daddy sent me here!"

Rory rolled her eyes at Aubrey's childlike enthusiasm. Maybe events in the South were different, but she had absolutely no desire to attend the Met's event. Especially because she knew that a certain boy would be there; his attendance absolutely required as the Huntzberger's were big on charity.

She'd been so looking forward to having a Logan-free day, but now she'd have to spend her Saturday getting dolled up and he'd be there. Ugh.

For a brief moment, she wondered if this event was orchestrated by Mitchum, but she knew that these things were planned out months in advance.

"So, what are you wearing?" Aubrey asked innocently.

"Clothes," Rory answered dully and felt a little bad as Aubrey's face fell. "A dress, a black one probably. Versace, I think."

"Hm." Aubrey nodded, but she really wasn't convinced. "We should go shopping for dresses. Tomorrow morning. What are you doing tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"Well, we'll have to plan. You can't just wear a black Versace dress, Rory. We've got to coordinate our shopping route, dresses, shoes, bags, make-up, hair. Although, we could get my hair and make-up team to fly up. Or do you use someone here?"

Rory was having a hard time following what Aubrey was driving at. Did she really want to hang out tonight and then spend the whole day together tomorrow? She never did that – at least someone who wasn't her mother or Finn – even her friendship with Lane didn't cover pre-party planning. Not these days, anyway.

"I, um, Grandma usually calls someone," Rory offered , "Pierre? I think?"

"How can you not know your hair guy's name?" Aubrey asked, concern lacing her tone. "I mean, you're hair is fantastic."

"Thanks, I think," Rory frowned a little bit, "I just don't like these things, Aubrey. Kind of hate them, actually."

"Oh, don't be silly!" Aubrey waved all of Rory's concerns away, "It's fun. The women in dresses and the men in suits. Finn will wear a suit, right?"

"I'm sure he will…"

"Oh, isn't that nice?" Aubrey sighed, before she shook her red curls and the image of Finn in a tus away and regained focus on more important things. "So, come over for a girly sleepover at my place tonight. I'm staying at the Waldorf Astoria in the penthouse. I'll order Chinese food! You like Chinese food, right?"

"I do…but…"

"No buts, Miss Gilmore. I'm going to get you to like charity events. You are getting the Aubrey Andrews treatment."

And with that, the girl linked arms with Rory and the two of them walked the rest of the block to the Huntzberger Office.

* * *

The cream envelope mocked Logan from the kitchen counter. With it's perfect square shape and shiny gold letters. He hated it.

And he hated that he had forgotten Events Season and this eight week program of torture would overlap.

"Well played, Mitch, well played," Logan shook his head in disgust.

"Oh mate," Finn said as he stuffed a piece of Nutella toast in his mouth. "It won't be that bad. There will be a million people there, you won't even have to see you-know-who."

Logan let out an annoyed huff. "You can say Rory, Finn. And she'll be there and I'll see her. I always see her."

Finn hummed in agreement, Rory Gilmore was quite the unavoidable type, "Do you think Aubrey got an invite?"

"I'm sure Mitchum saw to that, yeah."

"Good, good," Finn nodded deep in thought, ignoring the chance to confess what he knew about Mitchum's involvement in this whole mess. "I wonder if I should take her dress shopping. You know, prepare her for a New York City party."

"She's been to events before," Logan vetoed the idea, "her dad builds country clubs for a living, the girl knows the look for the event."

"Right…" Finn trailed off, trying to mask his disappointment, before remembering that he was here to support Logan. "Mate, don't worry about the party. We'll have a pizza and a few beers before we go, and remember it's open bar!"

"Thank God for small favors."

Finn laughed and patted him on the back, "That's the spirit, mate!"

Logan faked a smile and couldn't wait until Sunday. A day of rest.

* * *

**It makes me sad to see how depressed Rory and Logan are. This constant dancing around each other, going from "maybe it'll be ok" to "oh, crap, he's still mad? And now she is too?" is tiring and annoying and frustrating, but things happened - big things - and he can't just buy her a coffee cart and make up for it, you know? And she just can't send him a case of rum and expect it to be ok.  
**

**However, I promise that the charity event will be an excellent opportunity for them to let out some of that pent up anger and I'm thinking we'll get to know a little more about sweet Miss Aubrey. **

**Hopefully I'll be able to update soon, but I update my profile reguarly so if you're wondering check there or PM me :) Much love! **


	26. Round Twenty Six: Looks

**Eek! I never meant to go this long without updating. I'm guess I'm still trying to figure out balancing working full-time, hanging out with friends, growing up, and still find time to write. **

**I still love it and I absolutely plan to continue, it's just going to take a while I guess. Hope you'll stick with me? **

**Refresher: Logan and Rory are still not together and working together for Mitchum's New Initiatives Project is not making things any better. Rory's found a new friend in Aubrey, who, in turn, is interested in Finn. The four of them were invited to some swanky society fundraiser. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own GG.

* * *

**

A dress, a black one probably.

What started out as a flippantly made statement, just something to curb Aubrey's enthusiasm about the Metropolitan Museum of Art's fundraiser, had turned into something so much bigger than some chiffon fabric and a designer name.

It was at this event, in this dress, that Rory would make her grand return onto the North-East Coast's social scene. The dress would have to convey that she was back to being Lorelai Leigh Gilmore-Hayden, hyphened and all, heiress, the queen bee of Hartford, better, and that whatever happened in London was better left in London.

She wanted – needed – this dress to be captured on paparazzi cameras and be splashed across the gossip columns to drive home that sentiment. She needed to show people (maybe even he-who-must-not-be-named? And definitely all of the gossips in Hartford) that she was ok. Better than ok, even, and that she was serious about her work at HPG and, obviously, about the charity. Whatever charity it was.

Of course, Aubrey's dress needed to say something, too. It couldn't be a show-stopping, over the top number – it'd be rude to upstage her North-East Coast peers – but it definitely needed to show that she was making her mark on this part of society, with the queen bee backing her up.

Ever surface in Aubrey's apartment was covered by vetoed dresses. A one-shouldered organza number by Marchesa cast aside (the ruffled neck was too much!) on the floor, next to a 1930s-inspired flapper dress (the layers of silk wrinkled too easily), and a black shift Ralph Lauren (seriously?). The heaps of chiffon, silk, and satin were almost too much to bear, but eventually the girls managed to find their perfect dresses.

The ocean blue of Aubrey's strapless silk chiffon J. Crew dress offset her copper ringlets perfectly. It was light and fun, with a swingy skirt and a bow tying around the waist, but modest enough to leave the right impression with the in-crowd. Her shoes - gorgeous lace Badgley Mischka pumps – were subtle, yet sexy.

The Loubatins were reserved for Rory. Sophisticated four-inch booties, dramatic crepe ruched across the top. Sexy, and in no way subtle, these booties were clearly made for marking territory. Her Tasdashi Shoji dress, by comparison, was less of a statement maker, with its boat-neck and knee-length, but the deep plum color, the crinkled silk chiffon, with a tight bodice and full, fluttery skirt, was classically beautiful. Chic. Not something to mess with.

"You look…" Aubrey's green eyes gave Rory a quick once over, "…absolutely gorgeous," she said, her lips pulling into a smile.

"Thanks, Aubrey, you look amazing, too," Rory quickly returned the compliment, "Pedro definitely knows his way around a blow dryer," she gestured at Aubrey's perfect 'do.

"Well, only the best for Daddy's girl," Aubrey laughed and then turned serious. "I do look alright, right?"

"Of course. You've seen yourself in the mirror, right?"

"I know, silly, but this isn't a party like I know. Do I look alright for the New York crowd?"

Rory nodded, but shrugged at the same time. What the hell did she know about parties? Her MO had always been to get drunk as quick as possible and then hightail it out of there. Emily was responsible for her look, her hair, her paparazzi smile. Honestly, Rory still didn't understand why this was all so appealing to Aubrey.

"Tell it to me straight, Rory. I'm serious. I've got butterflies." She put her hand over her stomach to emphasis the point.

"You look great," Rory said again, "and I've got butterflies, too." Aubrey breathed a sigh of relief, while Rory rolled her eyes. It was easy to say that her butterflies were down to the pressures of her grand return to the social scene; much harder to admit they were down to a boy, getting ready across town, probably donning a Hugo Boss suit.

* * *

"Well, that is one particularly effeminate male." Logan looked up from his place on the couch to find Finn casually leaning in the doorway. "I mean, look at that fellow sashay down the runway. It's quite impressive! What show is this, mate?"

"A dumb one." Annoyed, Logan rolled his eyes and switched off the TV. "How come you're dressed?"

"Because it's seven thirty, the car will be here in fifteen minutes. So, the more appropriate question is, how come you are not?"

Logan looked down and plucked at his grey sweats. "What? No good?"

Finn's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "This is your first stateside social event. Now, I don't care if you end up on the worst dressed list, but I will be standing next o you, mate. And Finn Rothschild has never been on a worst dressed list…"

"You take those things way too seriously," Logan said sarcastically, but he couldn't help the left side of his mouth twitching upwards. He had to admit that Finn looked impeccable in his grey Armani suit. He sighed once more for effect as he pushed himself off the couch. "I can't believe you are forcing me to go to this shindig."

"Technically, it's not me who is making you go. Remember who arranged the car service for tonight…"

"Compliments of good ol' Mitch," Logan nodded, but his pressing look caused Finn to confess. "I will admit that I am looking forward to the event. It's been a while since we've been to a good old-fashion fundraiser."

"It's not like it's going to be any different from the other ones," Logan said, "It's the same people, the same food, the same drinks, just different venues."

Finn wisely ignored Logan's cynical views on society events. "Just wear the Hugo Boss suit, alright?"

The Met knew how to put on a classy, sophisticated affair. A small orchestra set the tone and filled the ball room with the warm, rich sounds of cellos, delicate flute tones and violins, for a dramatic touch.

Rory was just thankful that the music muted some of the gossip. Obviously, there were a lot of people here; anyone who thought to be anyone. And they all had their eyes on her, observing, commenting, and forming opinions on her dress, her shoes, her hair, her life, and her new best friend.

Aubrey hadn't left Rory's side since their fashionably late (but not as late as someone else, she noted) arrival. There was a subdued silence between them; each girl too caught up in the moment to make casual conversation.

Aubrey looked like a little girl, a child-like, enthusiastic grin on her face and the reflection of the chandeliers sparkled in her eyes. Her perfectly manicured hand was wrapped around the stem of her wineglass, but the wine remained untouched. Every so often, Rory would feel Aubrey's eyes on her and all the excitement and hope she's see in them, caught her off-guard.

How could Aubrey like these things so much? Didn't she understand that it was all just a game, a show? These people were fake. They may say that her red hair was gorgeous and that her Southern drawl was enchanting, but that it'd be retold in tomorrow's papers as grotesque and annoying.

And yet, Rory was a little envious of this blind optimism her new friend possessed. "Oh, Rory," Aubrey gushed, "I'm having so much fun!"

"Yeah," Rory sighed deeply, before nipping at her tonic-without-gin. "It's not bad." And in truth, it wasn't. She'd spotted Lane and Dave, caught up quickly with Mrs. McCrea, and chatted with her parents, but the night was young and she couldn't help her thoughts from going to a certain Huntzberger.

She had seen Mitchum talking to some guy she couldn't quite place, but knew was an investment banker, and if Mitchum was here, Logan would have to be.

Suddenly, Aubrey let out an awestruck sigh. "Finn's here."

Rory's eyes shot up and she saw Finn confidently stride into the room. Yeah, Finn looked nice in his grey suit, but Rory's gaze was drawn to Logan. Classic black, crisp white shirt, shiny black tie. He looked poised, despite the attention he was drawing. Rory wasn't blind to the approving looks the women in the room were giving him.

He wasn't looking at any of them, though.

No, his eyes were fixed on her.

Dead-lock.

Eye-to-eye.

Her stomach tightened at his incessant gaze and suddenly parched, she brought her water to her lips and missed, sending a trickle of tonic water straight down the front of her dress.

An amused smirk flashed across his face, but it pissed off Rory. His mere presence was enough to throw her off completely, him in a tux turned her into a clumsy fool, completely incompetent, even making it difficult to have a simple drink of water.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Rory muttered as she pat off her dress with her hands.

"Oh honey," Aubrey frowned, "your dress is too pretty to swear like that." And with that, Aubrey took Rory by the hand and dragged her to the lady's room to freshen up.

* * *

"Where do you think the girls are off to, mate?" Finn asked, before popping a salmon puff into his mouth.

Logan ignored Finn's question as he loaded a few canapés on his cocktail plate. "I'm going to need a drink to go with this," he announced and set off for the bar.

Finn followed Logan's lead and decided not to press the matter. Although, he was finding it increasingly difficult to get the image of Aubrey's swishy skirt out of his mind.

Logan tried his best to distance himself from Rory. He so desperately wanted to escape her, but he couldn't. Not even in something as simple as watching TV. He couldn't just flip past America's Next Top Model, no, he had to keep watching. Keep thinking about that day when she was sick (how guilty he'd felt) and how Finn so casually suggested Rory moved in (he'd never felt that nervous and excited at the same time) and how fucked up it was now.

She was here, floating around the room in those shoes and that dress, practically ignoring him. Which should have been fine, because that's what they kind-of-sort-of agreed on, keeping it professional and all, but it was not. He could not do anything about his body tensing as her presence grew nearer, about the flutter in his stomach at her laugh above the orchestra, or how his eyes magically always found her in the crowd.

An hour and forty five minutes in, Rory was experiencing one of the most excruciatingly boring conversations ever. It was an older couple, he a banker turned art collector and she a housewife. No DAR credentials, but obviously involved with all sorts of charities. While Aubrey effortlessly kept the conversation going, jabbering on about Southern summers, New York city shopping, and her budding art collection, Rory focused on how much these ruched ankle booties made her feet hurt. Meditating on this particular type of pain was a lot better than analyzing what was hidden in Logan's eyes.

Desire? Lust? Or was that wishful thinking, considering the Hugo Boss? Maybe the looks were because he was sorry. Perhaps he wanted to apologize for imposing that stupid "strictly professional" rule. Or maybe it was a psychological game. Maybe all he wanted to do was break her spirit, to get even.

A waiter broke her analyzing with a tray of drinks, and for a brief moment she considered taking a glass of champagne or a G&T, but she opted for a sparkling water instead. For some reason, she did not want alcohol to cloud tonight's events.

"Water, huh? That seems unusual for you."

Rory's eyes flew to Logan's. He was next to her. Where the hell did he come from?

She furrowed her brows at his not-so-subtle dig but put on her best society smile. "Logan, Finn. So glad to see you were able to join us tonight."

Aubrey did little to hide her megawatt smile as she leaned in to embrace Logan, and then Finn, who definitely hugged longer than what was deemed appropriate. Deep pink patches flushed Aubrey's neck, but she ignored them as she introduced the boys to her conversation partners.

"Mr. and Mrs. Shannon, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Logan Huntzberger and Finn Rothschild. They are part of the New Initiatives Planning Group I was telling you about?"

Rory watched as Logan introduced himself. Charming, but not as charming as he ought to be for such an event.

Finn's introduction made up for it, though. A handshake for him, a kiss on the hand for the missus, a joke, and his hand snaked around Aubrey's waist, pink blotches now covering her arms, as well.

The two made a cute couple. Rory couldn't help but note that his tie matched her dress perfectly and she knew that with Finn's optimistic attitude he'd attribute to that to something as silly as fate. And Aubrey, being Aubrey, would agree.

For a split-second, Rory hated them. They weren't "officially" anything yet - they'd had a week of lunch breaks to their name – and yet, there was something so undeniable about them. And they both made it look so easy. Aubrey's nervousness about the whole thing was made obvious by the blushing, but she ignored it, and leaned into Finn, whose arm fit perfectly, protectively, around Aubrey's waist. They looked comfortable, as if it'd been that way forever. And neither of them acted like this was a big deal, because they just carried on talking to Mr. and Mrs. Shannon about the next Rodin exhibit.

A flame of jealousy ignited from deep within her. In this moment, Finn and Aubrey visualized how it should've been for her and Logan and Logan just stood there, holding his tumbler of rum and coke, eyes on her.

Still.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking, as she took a step back from the little group. "I'm just….I have to…" she made a vague gesture, towards the hallway.

"Do you want me to come?" Aubrey asked sweetly, though with concern in her eyes.

Rory shook her head, "No, no. I'm… you… stay. I'll be right back." She smiled quickly at Mr. and Mrs. Shannon and turned, not looking back at Finn or Logan.

Mr. Shannon, oblivious to the complicated relationship between the four, carried on with the topic at hand, but was cut off a few seconds later as Logan made his excuses.

The click-clack of red-heeled booties on the tiled floor was echoed in the hallway, but it was not loud enough to drown out the thump-thump-thump of her heart. She had no clue where she was going, but she knew she needed to get the hell out of there.

Seeing Logan everyday at work was complicated and caused serious emotional fluctuations, but it was manageable, but to see him here tonight, looking the way he did, being under the scrutiny of his gaze, with Finn and Aubrey's fairytale romance in her face, just underlined the distance between her and Logan, and highlighted – again – just how much she fucked it up.

* * *

"Rory!" his voice called out after her, but she didn't stop. Instead, she quickened her pace and fled into the cloak room.

It was a terrible place to hide-out, especially because Logan saw her go in there, but she needed a place to catch her breath. Her breathing had just barely returned to normal as he pushed down the door handle.

"Rory? You in here?" he asked, in a tone that was foreign to her. It was a mix of compassion, amusement, and bewilderment.

"Yeah," she nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. "I am."

He opened the door, stepped in, closed the door, and leaned back against, all in silence as she watched him with curious eyes. For the size of the Met, the cloak room was extremely small, or maybe it was L-shaped, and most of the coats were stored in the vertical part of the L and not in the horizontal part they were standing.

No matter. Logan was standing in front of her, so close all she had to do was extend her arm and she would be able to touch his chest. She silently stared at his chest, noting the rise and fall of it as he breathed.

"Are you…okay?" he asked.

_No! _Her mind screamed. _How could she be? And how could he ask that? _She clenched her jaw. "I'm fine. It was just, um, a little hot in there."

He nodded slowly, clearly not believing her, but also unsure how far he wanted to pursue this. He wasn't supposed to want to. After all, it was him who'd been hurt (although, he was pretty sure the score was evened somewhere along the way) and he who had imposed all sorts of silly rules and codes of conduct.

Yet, he hadn't been blind to the way Finn looked at Aubrey and the way Aubrey looked at him. He was pretty sure that at one point in time, he'd looked at Rory like that. And he knew Rory had looked at him that way.

That was something, right?

"Are you sure?"

She scoffed at this out-of-place remark. "Yeah, I'm sure," she bit at him sarcastically, "Just go back to the party," and she gestured for him to leave.

He inhaled deeply, "Rory…"

Her eyes met his for a brief moment – for the millionth time - and her tough-girl stance broke. "I see the way you look at me, Logan! You're not over it! And I want to be over it – _need_ to be over it and I can't if you are looking at me like that!"

He swallowed the shame of being caught and lied, "I'm not…"

"You are!" she hurled at him, and then softer, "You are, Logan! God…your eyes, the follow me, Logan. All the time. And I need you to stop. If I'm going to get over this, I need you to stop," she said, almost pleading, her sorry eyes meeting his once more.

"Damn it, Rory!" he boomed, jumping to an upright position, "Do you think I want to look at you like this?" He took a step closer to her, really getting in her face, "Do you? Huh?"

Taken aback by his outburst, she couldn't speak and he continued on, pacing around the tiny space. "Don't you think I'd just rather not? Don't you think I try to force myself to look at someone else? There are 250 women in that damn ballroom I could look at and not feel anything. But no, I'm looking at you. It's always got to be you! You are the one that reminds me I'm not in control, the one who unsettles me with one look. And that… can't you understand what it's like for me? I have to sit in that meeting room with you every day and act like nothing happened – "

"But _you_ started that!" she screamed, but he ignored it. "…and know that nothing will ever happen."

He stopped his pacing and was now right in front of Rory. Her gaze dropped to his chest once again, which was rising and falling quickly; a direct result of his angry rant.

Thoughts clouded by his nearness to her, she reached up and put her flat palm against his chest. His shirt with crisp with starch, but still soft and she could feel the contour of his chest through the fabric. She felt him tense, but almost instantaneously, relax. He steadied himself by putting his left arm against the wall and he shut his eyes.

A few tense moments passed between them – Rory was sure his heart was beating as loud as hers – before he opened his eyes. She'd never noticed how many different hues made up his true eye color and she bit down on her lip.

Suggestive, maybe, or just nerves? He drew in a sharp breath, but didn't move. "_Can_ happen," his voice was strained and hoarse and his breathing just intensified.

Rory nodded slowly, trying to focus on something other than his face, but she couldn't. Her hand went to his cheek and she brushed it slowly, almost comforting, like they'd be able to figure it out.

Logan sighed, dropping his head so it was just above her. She could feel his hot breath on her skin and instinctively she cocked her head to the side, bringer her face closer to his. There was maybe an inch or two between them and it took everything in her power not to jerk forward and kiss him.

His eyes glazed over, she was lost him them, any second now his lips would collide with hers, but they didn't.

"So…" his voice cracked, and he coughed, "to answer your question: do I want to look at you?"

Her eyes widened as the electricity of the moment left her body, and he pulled away from her. "No. In fact, I'd give everything to _not _look at you!"

He left, letting the door slam, and apparently, taking all the air in the room with him as well. His words were like a punch in the gut; she couldn't breathe and she couldn't stop the tears from falling and staining her pretty dress for the second time this evening.

Through blurred vision, she saw Aubrey and before she knew it, she was enveloped in a hug, embarrassed, angry tears falling from her eyes as the rest of her body shook violently.

"Oh honey, honey, honey" Aubrey drawled, "come on. I've called us a car, we're going home."

"But…the party….you…" Rory said through her tears.

"…need to be here with you. And that's where I am." Rory let out another sob – Aubrey was too nice to be a society girl. "You do like vanilla toffee crunch ice cream, right? Because that's all I have."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Rory was installed on Aubrey's couch, showered and clad in a pair of purple flannel pajamas, holding a bowl of ice cream, a steaming mug of coffee besides her.

Aubrey was beside her, in Snoopy PJs and a fluffy white robe, warming her hands around a mug of vanilla coffee, an empty ice cream bowl besides her.

"I'm sorry I devoured my ice cream before you had the chance to take a bite. I just love ice cream."

"Oh," Rory shrugged, looking at the three enormous scoops in her bowl, "I'm not really hungry, I guess."

Aubrey cocked her head to the side, "Rory, honey, you've got to wallow. Whatever happened tonight, needs some ice cream and coffee to get over."

A tiny smile played at her lips. "I think it's going to have to be a lot more than ice cream and coffee."

"Because…?" Aubrey could tell that Rory was hesitant to divulge, so she apologized. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry – it's none of my business."

"No, no, it's ok. It's, um," she dragged her spoon across one of the scoops, "… complicated."

"Right…" Aubrey nodded understandingly, "…with a boy like him, how could it not be?"

A hallow sounding chuckle escaped her. "It's me. It's my fault."

Aubrey's perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Why would you say that?"

Rory looked at Aubrey in a way a mother might look at a young child who's made a mistake for the millionth time. What did bright-eyed, hopeful, optimistic, naïve Aubrey know about Rory-and-Logan?

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she scoffed, "I'm not naïve, Rory, you know I know about the DuGrey boy and all of the gossip. I don't hold it against you. Tristan DuGrey is an asshole…"

Rory interjected, "…but I did something much worse."

This tiny bit of information spiked Aubrey's interest and she fixed her gaze on Rory. "Like?"

"Doing body-shots off a Greek oil shipping heir and taking him back to Logan's place. And having Logan come home to find him in the morning. With me still drunk. Doing rum shots on his counter."

A moment of silence passed between them, Rory bit her lip waiting for Aubrey to pass judgment, but it never came. No shouting, no get-out, no shocked expressions. Instead, she nodded deeply. "That certainly complicates things."

"I'm on the other end of the spectrum, huh?" Rory chuckled wryly, "compared to you and Finn."

Aubrey let the comment slide. "He likes you, Rory," she said with a certain confidence in her tone. "I see it, he's hurt, but he's hurting you, too, so all of this…it's not entirely your fault. At least, not anymore. He'll come around."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," Aubrey shrugged, "It has to."

Rory nodded in semi-understanding, still envious of that kind of blind faith Aubrey had. Meanwhile, Aubrey's mind had turned to other things.

"So, what's it like?"

"What?" Rory asked, "living a real-life soap opera romance?"

A trail of pink blotches spread across her face, "Um, actually, I meant… _you know…_"

Rory's eyes widened at the implication. "Sex?" she squeaked, "With him?" and she couldn't stop the butterflies as she thought back to the almost-kiss in the cloakroom.

Aubrey looped a strand of hair around her index finger, "In general?"

"Oh." A moment of awkward silence passed between them. But the moment was enough, for both of them to feel Rory passing judgment. Rory remembered a vague sense of pressure from Tristan to take that step at sixteen, but at the same time, it seemed natural and she had wanted it. Kind of, sort of. For him. Whatever. "So, you've never….?"

"Nope," Aubrey shook her head and her curls danced around, "It's just that I'm a late bloomer and, you know, I think _that_ is meant for my One True Love."

Rory nodded as if she understood and Aubrey let out a deep sigh, "So, things could get complicated for Finn and me."

"But Finn's a romantic," Rory said quickly, "he won't mind."

"It'll freak 'm out," Aubrey said, "he's been with, you know, so he'll want to…"

"Not until you're ready," Rory said with the same kind of confidence Aubrey had used before. She knew Finn, and she'd knew he'd not freak out on Aubrey and break her heart. And if he did, he'd have her to deal with. Odd, that she suddenly felt so protective of Aubrey.

"I've never…" Rory laughed at Aubrey's shocked expression, "I mean, I have, obviously, but not with Logan."

Aubrey leaned back on the couch and her lips pulled into a funny grin. "That's too bad."

Rory nodded deeply in agreement and spooned the last bit of ice cream into her mouth. "I know." 


	27. Round Twenty Seven: One Text

**I know this one is short and it may not be perfect - it's sort of a departure from all the angst and moodiness. I figured it's finally time to get this story in the direction you are all waiting for. What can I say, maybe the Royal Wedding inspired me? Thanks for all of the reviews on the last chapter - I know I've been terrible at updating and I still won't/can't promise to do better, but I'm trying and it means so much that you love this story in the special way that you do. Thanks! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

* * *

It was five in the morning and Logan lay still in bed, staring at his ceiling, searching for answers to questions he had for what seemed like forever. The questions, for the most part, were pointless. Why did he have to be on that flight? Why did Rory have to look at him the way she did, make him do the things he did to win her over?

He knew why he left Hartford the first time. Shouting in a gazebo and staining his shirt with her tears was far too much, much too soon. But then, why did he run into her four months later? Why did she come to London? Why was he so afraid of breaking the rules? Why did she have to meet the Greek? Why didn't he stand up for her - she deserved the prize after all.

Maybe sabotage was in his nature. He liked this poor, tortured rich boy image he had cultivated during his teen years. Maybe this was the logical continuation of that. Yet, he let Mitchum talk him into some silly too-good-to-be-true project group. Why was she there?

Perhaps, it was fate. He was not even really sure he believed in fate. His life had been planned out in advance so he never really had to entertain the idea of something happening based purely on chance. Something so abstract was too hard to grasp for him. Still, he wondered about different kind of questions too. Was she a good kisser? What did she look like when she just woke up? Did she hate him? Or love him, only if it was just a little bit?

The thought of her being his destiny entered his mind. She was something so uncontrollable, something so hard to walk away from, something that just came coming back. Even when he wanted to look away. Even when he said that he couldn't stand to look at her. Even when he wanted to not think about here. Here he was again, in the middle of the night, in bed, thinking about her.

Logan tossed and turned as his thoughts morphed into a reel of him and Rory, different scenarios playing out, images of was and what it could have been. Finally, at 6:30 he gave up and stumbled into the kitchen.

* * *

Through blurred vision, he made out Finn sitting at the breakfast bar, ear buds in his ear, gaze fixed to his laptop, a mug of coffee in his hand. "It's 6:30."

"I know, mate," Finn said, taking out his left ear bud, but eyes glued to the screen of his computer.

Logan chose to ignore Finn for the moment and he filled the kettle with water, grabbed a mug, a bag of Earl Grey. He ate a granola bar as he waited for the water to boil. Finn wasn't paying attention to Logan either, he was so wrapped up in whatever he was watching on his computer, the world could have collapsed around him and he wouldn't have cared. Once Logan's tea was sufficiently cooled that he could take a few sips and he started to feel more awake, did he speak to Finn.

"Why, in the name of all that is holy, are you awake?"

"Couldn't sleep," Finn looked up, "Thinking about Aubrey."

"And so you are…?" Logan asked and Finn let out a deep sigh. "Watching YouTube videos of Kate Nash, mate. She knows exactly what I'm going through."

Finn's choice of music wasn't as surprising as it maybe should've been and Logan nodded in understanding.

"It's just that…" Finn started, "Aubrey is the nicest thing, the best girl I've ever met. I want her, you know? But not just in a sexy way. I mean, obviously…" A sly grin flashed across his face, "...but I want her to know that when I say two sugars, I actually mean three and I want her to need me, like the way I need her….It's bad, mate, I can't eat. I can't sleep…."

Logan had been too wrapped up in his own personal drama that he failed to notice if Finn had indeed stopped eating and sleeping, but he had to admit that Finn looked out of it. Though, he himself had not been eating like usual and he couldn't exactly remember the last time he had a good night's sleep. He caught himself nodding along to what Finn was saying, his level of understanding was deeper than he thought.

"Just, wow, that look on her face when I saw her for the first time. At the breakfast buffet. And that smile…"

Bug-eyed glasses. Pink Birkin. Society stance. His mouth went dry, so he gulped a sip of his tea. "You should ask her out."

"I can't," Finn said ruefully, "I don't think she likes me."

"What?" He was shocked, "But I saw you two at the fundraiser yesterday…."

"I know. But I can't figure her out. I don't know, mate, I just don't know."

"Wouldn't you rather know rather than watching the same clip of Kate Nash on repeat since 6 in the morning?"

"Five-thirty, actually," Finn said in a solemn tone.

"Don't ever tell anyone that," Logan said, finally with a hint of a grin returning to his face and Finn laughed. But the light moment was fleeting as Finn's expression turned to that of despair. "What am I going to do?"

That was another question Logan had no answer to and he just shook his head. "You want to get breakfast?"

"I could eat a waffle, maybe," Finn shrugged.

Chocolate-chips. Her finger dipped in batter. That wickedly flirtatious grin. "Yeah, waffles sound good."

* * *

As Finn and Logan waited patiently to be seated among the usual Sunday morning breakfast crowd, Finn rambled on about Aubrey and how he couldn't wait to see her again, Logan's thoughts were pulled back to the cloakroom. The words he hurled at her made it seem so definite, like he'd never see her again. Rationally, he knew that he'd _have _to see her again, but he didn't dread that perspective, like he thought he would, like he was _supposed _to, it excited him. Her eyes, that smile, the glossy shine of her hair, it all burned in his mind.

"I'm Cassie and I'll be your server today!" the perky voice of the young waitress pierced his thoughts. "Can I start you off with something?"

"Coffee, the biggest size you've got," Finn said.

"Tough night?" Cassie laughed as she poured two regular sized mugs for Finn.

"I'm in love, but she don't love me back, love," Finn said dramatically which elicited a sympathetic look from Cassie. "And you?"

"The girl I maybe liked may or may not have had drunk sex with a Greek god in my bed. And I can't figure out if she did it to get back at me for having to take a business trip with another girl, even though I more or less promised to take the trip with her. And now I have to work with her. The girl I maybe like, I mean, not the other girl."

"Wow. Um. I meant your drink order," Cassie said and Logan's eyes widened a bit in embarrassment. "Of course, I'm sorry. An orange juice, please."

"It'll be right up," she said, "And just some advice? I'd drop the "maybe". To me, it sounds like you're in love."

Logan gave the waitress somewhat of an annoyed look, but his facial expression changed at Finn's sigh. "She's right, mate. It was obvious from the start that you and her weren't a maybe."

"We weren't?" And there he was thinking he'd done a pretty decent job at keeping his cool and hiding his feelings for her. "Do you think she…?"

"Knew?" Finn's mouth twitched upward in a smile. "Of course. You felt it, too, I'm sure."

A wave of nerves washed over Logan, as if his deepest, darkest secret had been revealed. "Who else? Westville? Morris? The rest of the Board?" Logan blinked as he realized the worst possible thing, "Mitchum?"

"Them other guys, I don't know…" Finn paused, not quite sure if he wanted to tell Logan about a certain phone call Mitchum had received. On the other hand, he saw that Logan was still aching and maybe, maybe, Logan was finally ready to admit his feelings to himself and maybe he'd be so relieved that he wouldn't blow up at Finn.

It was worth a shot.

"And Mitchum," Finn started gently, "he, um, now don't get mad, but remember those months in London after Rory left?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, um, I saw that you were in a pretty bad place, mate, and don't say that you weren't, because I know you and you were working like crazy and that's your version of drinking red wine and listening to Adele. Or Kate Nash. Or Regina Spektor. And I get that, so I let you deal with it yourself, but you weren't getting any better…." Finn saw a shift in Logan's expression. It wasn't quite anger, but it wasn't a good look either.

"So, anyway," he carried on quickly and took a deep breath, "I called Mitchum." And he pulled up his shoulders, covering his face with his hands, bracing for Logan's outburst, but it didn't come.

"You called Mitchum," Logan repeated slowly, and he said it one more time, letting the full implication sink in. "So, he knows," he said, as realization dawned. "And this, this, us being here is Mitchum, isn't it?"

Finn nodded slowly, still kind of waiting for a Logan-explosion. "What's he up to?" Logan asked, more to himself than anyone else, still bewildered at Finn's revelation.

"I don't know," Finn answered honestly. "But, you're right, this project thing, that's something he came up with. I'm guessing that means he approves."

"It can't be," Logan immediately shot down Finn's suggestion. "He was the one who came up with all those silly rules. He'd never...he thinks I'm too... that I'd hurt Rory."

"She hurt you, too. Maybe that evened the score."

Logan cocked his head to the side. "Mitchum Huntzberger actually acknowledging his son has a heart. Get real, Finn."

Finn shrugged, sipping at his coffee. "Why do you even care? Seven weeks left and then you're free."

"But so is she."

"Right," Finn nodded, "Back to South Carolina."

"Hartford," Logan corrected absentminded and Cassie laughed as she topped up Finn's coffee. "You boys are too much, making things far more complicated than they need to be. All you need to do is call up these girls and ask them out. Dinner and a movie. Nice and simple. You," she pointed at Logan, "don't worry about this Mitchum dude. If she loves you like you love her, it won't matter, and you," she turned to Finn, "don't assume. You'll end up crying into your waffles at a breakfast joint and make an ass out of yourself. Don't give up on her until she says loud and clear that she doesn't love you."

And with that advice, Cassie cleared their plates and suddenly everything clicked. Finn and Logan looked at each other grinning like idiots. And the left Cassie a two hundred dollar tip.

* * *

"The Adjustment Bureau is playing tonight," Logan said after a few minutes of furious typing.

"Let's see the trailer, then," Finn commanded lightly and both boys watched as Matt Damon filled the screen. A kiss with Emily Blunt. Smiles, laughter, dancing, hopes and dreams, crushed by the people who wanted to keep Matt Damon on his chosen path. Enough action for the boys and a love story for the girls, it seemed like a good date movie. Yet the irony of the movie choice didn't escape him: do we control our destiny, or do unseen forces manipulate us? And Matt Damon's voice rang in his ears. _All I have are the choices I make, and I choose her. _

"You want to text Aubrey?" Logan asked finally. "The City Theatre has a seven pm showing?"

"What should I ask? If she and Rory want to join me for the movies?" Finn asked sarcastically. "Text her yourself."

"I can't," Logan said. "Not after what I said. If Aubrey is as nervous as you say, she won't go alone. And Rory, being Rory, will go with her. Trust me."

"Trust you?" Finn said with a tiny laugh of disbelief. "Mate, you've barely read one issue of Cosmopolitan in your life, and you expect me to trust your love advice?"

"Just…" Logan ran a hand through his hair, "just trust me on this, okay?"

* * *

Meanwhile, in an apartment across town, two girls were just waking up admits what could only be described as the remains of a grown up girly slumber party. Empty ice-cream cartons, sticky bowls and spoons. Empty glasses of red wine, face masks and toe-spreaders and nail polish bottles strewn across the coffee table.

Aubrey was busy fixing them coffee. "I'm kind of in the mood for a pizza."

"Coffee and pizza is good for me," Rory laughed, reaching for her cell. "One large cheese?"

"Half pepperoni?" Aubrey suggested.

"Oh, that's better!"

* * *

"Do you think "love" sounds too familiar?" Finn asked, his Blackberry between his hands. "I mean, I don't want to freak her out, but I call Rory "love," so I don't want to think I'm friend-zoning her. Maybe darling is better? Or kitten? Butter cup? Sweet thing?"

"Or maybe just Aubrey?" Logan suggested and he couldn't suppress his laughter.

"Women are sensitive to words, Logan," Finn shot back, and then resumed perfecting the wording of his text. After another five minutes of sighing and typing, he cleared his throat. "How ' bout this?"

_Since we never got a chance to properly hang out at yesterday's party, I was wondering if you would be willing to accompany me to our city's finest theater of movies to see the 7 pm showing of The Adjustment Bureau? Pre-movie burgers is, of course, a must. _

"You are the Romeo of text messaging," Logan deadpanned and before Finn could to any further wordsmithing, he grabbed the phone from him and pressed send.

* * *

"Chace Crawford is definitely the sexiest Gossip Boy," Aubrey said as she took another slice of pizza from the box, "Anyone who thinks otherwise needs to get her head examined."

"Obviously," Rory nodded, "totally deranged if you disagree." The girls fell into another fit of giggles, even though the conversation didn't exactly warrant it. The shrill sound of Aubrey's text tone silenced them though.

She picked up her phone from the coffee table and then handed it to Rory. "You read it."

Rory glanced down at the number and back up to Aubrey. "But it's from Finn."

'That's why you have to read it."

Rory nodded understandingly and put down her pizza and wiped her hands, before opening the message.

"Okay, he, um, oh gosh...!" Rory could barely contain her excitement for Aubrey. "He wants to take you to the movies tonight! Seven o'clock, burger dinner beforehand!"

"Oh my gosh!" Aubrey squealed, "Like a real date."

"Like a real date," Rory confirmed with an excited nod but her excitement quickly dropped as she caught the look in Aubrey's eye. "What's wrong? You're going right?"

"I…." Aubrey nervously looked around the room, "A _date_ with _Finn…_"

"….is a good thing," Rory said.

"But I don't date," Aubrey said, "not really, not much. I get all nervous and blotchy."

"But you know Finn," Rory said, somewhat confused by Aubrey's nervousness (but then again, she knew as no other how paralyzing fear could be.)

"Just from a week's worth of lunch and one fundraiser. And it took hours for the blush to fade."

"He'll think it's endearing," Rory waved Aubrey's concerns away, "and besides, he's nervous, too. Finn _likes_ you Aubrey. You have to trust me on this one, okay?" And she saw Aubrey's lips curl into a smile. "Yes, me, with my terrible mess of a love life."

"Come with me," Aubrey said.

"Three people isn't a date," Rory said and Aubrey nodded knowingly. "Exactly. This way, I can still see Finn and you'll be there to help me. Guide me, with all of your wisdom." She grinned enthusiastically, hoping to convince Rory.

"Oh, Aubrey, I don't know…"

"Rory," she pleaded, "you have to come. I can't do it without you."

"Well…" she shrugged, but it was already too late. Aubrey was busy tapping away on her phone.

* * *

Finn's phone sat quietly between them on the couch. They pretended to nip at their beers and watch some bad reality TV as they waited for the phone to buzz. When it finally came, Finn practically jumped off the couch.

"What's it say?" Logan practically barked.

"She said ok but only with Rory."

"Told you so!" Logan clapped his hands and balled his fists in a _yes-points-for-me _gesture. Finn nodded happily and wrote his reply.

"Sent," Finn was relieved and he tossed his phone on the table.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a dates," Logan nodded excitedly and was met with Finn's groan. "Oh god, what will we wear?"

* * *

**So. After 27 chapters it looks like our favorite couple of all time (ALL TIME!) looks like they will be getting their date. Even though, technically, it's not really a date. And it's more about Finn and sweet, sweet Aubrey. But still, they'll be seeing each other, over dinner and a movie. And that's a start right? **

**Review if you are pleasantly surprised! **


	28. Round Twenty Eight: Dinner

**I had a day off work today - yay for bank holidays! - and planned on bumming around the house in my PJs and having a good old-fashioned day-long writing session. It turned out to be more like, 1 hour. In my sundress. While listening to Kings of Leon's newish album. But because l****ola1701 is hooked, I'm updating in 2 parts. Hope you don't mind!**

**Disclaimer; i don't own GG  
**

* * *

"Do I look alright?" Aubrey asked as she stepped into the living room. Rory muted the 16 & Pregnant marathon on MTV, and turned away from Dr. Drew to check Aubrey's outfit. She was clad in tight black skinny jeans, paired with a white-and-green floral silk, sleeveless top. Her feet slid into six-inch wedges and her hair styled with sleek, 30s-style waves.

For something that wasn't supposed to be a date, she was sure dressed like it was one.

"You look fantastic," Rory said, "Finn is crazy if he doesn't make a move!"

Aubrey's lips pulled into a funny smile and she motioned at Rory. "I like your outfit, too."

Rory looked down at her faded True Religion skinnies and tugged at her heather gray tee. The scuffed black flats she wore on her feet did nothing to add glamor to her outfit. Decidedly not a date. But she felt severely under-dressed compared to Aubrey. She let out a deep sigh, "Let me just dab on some lipstick and mascara and we can go..."

* * *

Wallet. Keys. Phone. Tickets. Wallet. Keys. Phone. Tickets. It was the mantra Finn had been repeating for the last 20 minutes as he waited for Logan to emerge from his bedroom. He was nervous - hence the mantra - but prepared; ready for what the night would bring, hopeful and confident that things would turn out the way he wanted them to.

Logan, on the other hand, was a wreck. The poor boy couldn't decide between khakis or black slacks, a shirt or a polo. Finn suggested jeans, but Logan gave him a look that made him leave the room. "30 minutes max, or I'm leaving without you!" Finn warned, as he shut the door behind him.

Finally, with just 2 minutes to spare, Logan came out of his room. Khakis and a navy polo. Boat shoes. It was classic Logan.

He gave Finn a questioning look and Finn's eyebrows shot up in amusement. "You look fine, Logan. Let's go!"

"Are you sure?" he asked nervously, "You don't sound serious."

Finn rolled his eyes, but he couldn't deny that this slightly less self-assured Logan was charming. "When do I ever sound serious, mate?" he joked and checked that he had his wallet, keys, phone, and tickets one last time.

* * *

The 2-block walk to the City Theater was quiet. Aubrey was lost in thought and Rory couldn't shake the uncomfortable, nagging feeling that something was up. Maybe it was twisted fate. Oh, how her love life was one series of unfortunate and self-destructive events, while the timid, late-bloomer Aubrey was embarking on something with someone who had all the potential to become her One True Love.

Was she jealous? No, she felt nothing but brotherly love towards Finn, and really, at this point, she thought it best to figure out herself before adding someone else in the mix, but still... somewhere, deep down, it should've been her.

* * *

The conversation between the boys was non-existent. Finn had taken a few jabs in the elevator and Logan shot back, but as soon as they stepped out in to the brisk New York night, the mood changed.

Logan knew he was taking a big risk. Surprising her like this, after how he acted and what he'd said... Just not yesterday, but in London, too. If he hadn't been so wishy-washy and so damn scared, he wouldn't have had to fake a chance meeting at a local movie theater. He probably should talk with Mitchum about what he'd learned from Finn. About the call, about his being here, about the approval that Mitchum supposedly granted. But it didn't matter. He wanted her, needed her, and it didn't matter (anymore) what Mitchum, or anyone else thought.

A shrink would probably feed him some lame bullshit about needing to find himself first but he didn't care.

* * *

There was electricity in the air as Finn and Logan approached. She hadn't noticed him, at first, considering she was giving a panicky Aubrey a calming pep-talk. Suddenly, though, she felt a pair of eyes on her, traveling slowly from her faded jeans, t-shirt, and stopping at her chestnut-colored hair. Rory turned her head, slowly, and stared straight into Logan's approving eyes.

That look made her heart jump. After all, what girl wouldn't want looks of approval from a guy who looked downright sexy in khakis and a polo? But that initial reaction faded just as quickly as it came as his electrifying smile seemed to burn her. Her eyes narrowed to slits, her lips pulled tight, leaving a threatening line of red lips on her face. She wanted to bolt, but Aubrey grabbed her arm.

Logan made a mental note to thank Aubrey for that later. Logan knew Rory and expected this reaction, but he knew - even from a considerable distance - that he'd seen a spark in her eyes.

"You alright there, mate?" Finn asked softly, but he kept his eyes on Aubrey.

"I could ask you the same," Logan chuckled lightly and flashed a winning smile as he approached the girls. "Ladies."

Rory's eyes met his briefly - searchingly - before she turned and snapped, "What are you doing here, Logan?"

"I...", he couldn't speak. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the right words. The silence between them drowned out the buzz of the crowded square and it was deafening. "I'm sorry," he said after a few tense moments. "I'm...sorry."

Rory's left eyebrow shot up - clearly unimpressed. "Sorry?"

He nodded slowly - what else could he do? Didn't she understand he was making an effort? Yeah, yesterday's actions didn't exactlyalleviate the tension between them. He knew he had issues. He sort of always thought that he would have a simple and easy, perfect kind of love. The girl that would tame his wild ways, that would be her. He didn't consider that his perfect girl would have a wilder side than he. That she was flawed. Of course, he was flawed, too. Neither of them was perfect, both of them had made mistakes. They'd made it difficult, but it was real.

She would just have to forgive him for being emotional, just as he would forgive her for that misstep with the Greek. It'd work out. They'd be together. Happy. Just like Finn & Aubrey.

As far as he was concerned, it was still a game, this time, just with heavier stake, and he was determined to win.

A cocky grin appeared on his face, as he regained his composure, and he cleared his throat before speaking. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday. And really, everything."

It sounded so sincere, it caught Rory off guard. "You and Finn set this up," she said slowly as it dawned.

"If I called, you would've hung up," Logan explained, "and I wanted to tell you in person."

Huh. Rory was stunned. It sounded touching and honest, but also caused some bile to rise in her throat. He was the one who practically kissed her in the cloak room, before telling her that he couldn't stand the sight of her and now, all of the sudden, he was apologizing? "You didn't want to see me. Ever. You...you couldn't even look at me!"

"I overreacted and I'm so sorry..." Logan started, but Rory shook her head. "Yeah, me too. For agreeing to join Aubrey tonight." She turned to Finn. "How could you?"

"Love..."

"Don't 'love' me!" Rory shouted and Finn was about to speak, but there was something about the way Logan looked at Rory that made Aubrey speak up.

"I'm feeling terribly parched," she spoke in her sweet Southern drawl, "Why don't we all get some drinks and something to eat?"

"That's a splendid idea, love!" Finn exclaimed, which Rory dismissed with an evil glare. But then Logan put his eyes on her.

Those big, beautiful eyes. They were the kind that went straight to her core and sent shivers up and down her spine. When he looked at her, he really looked at her.

And she couldn't just walk away.

That look meant something. This - whatever this was - wasn't over.

"Alright," she said with a shrug, "I could eat." She could practically hear the cheering inside Logan's head and she gave him a stern look. "But let me make one thing crystal clear: in no way, shape, or form is this a date!"

"No!" Aubrey squeaked, as if she suddenly realized where she was and what she was doing, "We're just friends going out to dinner."

"And seeing a movie," Finn reminded her with a cheeky grin.

"Well, yes," Aubrey swallowed and she couldn't suppress the smile that flashed across her face.

* * *

Rory had spent a considerable amount of time across Logan. In a gazebo, airplane seats, a class room setting, casually leaning over that breakfast bar. The one moment tonight reminded of her was at Jack & Jacques sandwich shop. Soup, a turkey club. Nothing fancy, just casual and relaxed. And she desperately wanted to give him to give him the cold shoulder, but she couldn't.

As they crossed the street to The Burger Bar, Logan made sure he was walking next to her. Her pace slowed, just slightly, and Aubrey and Finn kept a few steps ahead. He didn't look at her, but his deep voice was the most heartfelt she'd ever heard it.

"I just want you to know that I didn't mean it. At all."

She looked at him, forcing him to say it. "About not wanting to look at you, I mean." He wet his lips (why was she so focused on those lips?) "You are all I see, Rory."

Logan's hand brushed her arm and tiny sparks flew between them. Rory was far too proud to say that she forgave him, but in her heart she already had.

"Look," she sighed, "Let's just have fun tonight, okay?"

And that's how she found herself sitting across from him, cracking up at his story of the time he and Finn went skiing in Austria.

"Can you ski, love?" Finn asked Aubrey.

Like an old pro, she shot him a big, flirtatious grin, I've never been to Austria, but I know my way around Aspen. Daddy and I go every year."

"Wow." Finn was impressed and before Logan could ask Rory about her skiing experiences, she laughed. "Oh Logan, don't look at me like that! You know Gilmores don't exercise and skiing is..."

"...exercise!" Logan finished for her with a chuckle. Their eyes met for a split-second. "Touche, Ace. Touche."

Ace. It slipped so easily, so naturally from his lips, and she couldn't help the blush that spread across her cheeks.

"So, that's points for me then, Just Boss?"

Logan smirked at her reference to points. The game was definitely back on and he nodded approvingly. "That would be Hugo to you." Logan tugged at his blue polo and Rory rolled her eyes. "Of course."

They hadn't been drinking - a Coke for him, and a sweet tea for her - but there was definitely a buzz in the air.

* * *

**And that, my dear readers, is where I have to stop because I need to go to bed. I know it seems that Rory has just forgiven Logan and I know Logan is so up and down, but they will have The Talk. And Mitchum will be back eventually and it'll all be sorted. But first: part 2 of this date ;) **


	29. Round Twenty Nine: And a movie

**Thanks so much for reviewing the last chapter! In retrospect, it's more of a prelude, but I wanted to get it up because I could. And this…is hopefully what you've all been waiting for. Without giving too much away, there is M-ness in this. I've never written that, because it's so difficult to get right. I'm sorry if it is cringe-worthy and uncomfortable. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own GG**

* * *

"I'm going to get another beer," Finn said, "Aubrey?"

"Seven and Seven?"

"My kind of a girl," Finn grinned. "Logan? Rory? More ice teas?"

They nodded and Finn headed off towards the bar. "You know Malaysians bathe their babies in beer?" Rory didn't know why, but she had a knack for offering tidbits of information at the most random moments.

"Really?" Logan's eyebrows shot up in amusement and Rory nodded quickly, "Oh yeah, they do it to protect their babies from disease."

"Huh." He leaned back contently and a lazy smile captured him, "He was a wise man who invented beer."

"So, you normally just go around quoting Plato?" she laughed and he shrugged, not at all surprised she knew that. Finn slid back into the booth. "Beer is proof that God loves and us and wants us to be happy."

"I didn't know you were religious," Logan joked, as Finn took a sip of his beer. "Patriotic, mate."

"You're Australian," Rory said, "And Benjamin Franklin said that."

He pointed at his pint, "It's a Foster's, love."

"Oh snap!" Logan pounded his fist on the table and made a mocking face at Rory. She rolled her eyes as Aubrey burst into a fit of giggles.

Finn smiled widely at Aubrey, who looked away a little shyly. "So, Miss Aubrey, may I ask you a question?"

She fiddled with her drink stirrer and nodded, suddenly nervous about what Finn would ask. He cleared his throat in a ceremonious manner, and spoke. "Tell me, love, who is your favorite celebrity couple?"

Logan and Rory shot each other a confused look, but Aubrey's lips curled into a smile. "Did you read that in this month's Cosmopolitan magazine? Conversation Boosters?"

Finn shrugged, "I like to be prepared. And besides, I'm partial to a good celebrity couple."

"Really?" Aubrey leaned in closer to him so that their foreheads were almost touching, "I know almost every celebrity baby name. Is that weird?"

"Depends," he shrugged, "Do you think Violet and Seraphina are the cutest celebrity kids ever?"

"Of course they are the cutest! Jen and Ben are such great parents."

"The best!" Finn nodded his head with vigor. Logan and Rory shared a laugh at the bizarre turn of conversation and Rory gave Logan a fake-apologetic look. "I don't know any celebrity babies. Just Apple."

"Apple?" Logan's eyes widened. " Poor kid."

"I know," Rory rolled her eyes, "I would never call my kid that."

At this revelation, his interest peaked. "You wouldn't?"

She'd meant it in a casual way – just something to say – but he was making it something more. "Nah, Vanilla Latte has a nicer ring to it."

He chuckled at her mediocre joke. "So, you want kids?"

"I don't know. Never really thought about it, I guess."

He gave her a disbelieving look. "You and not thinking?"

She squirmed a little in her seat under his intense look. He had meant it at as compliment. She over-analyzed, she was smart. But she let a hallow laugh. "Actually, I have long history of not thinking."

Logan's mouth popped open in surprise as he realized that she was right. The atmosphere between them turned a little awkward as he wondered if she was now offended by his sudden lack of tact.

"You?" she asked, "Wanting kids, I mean."

He let out a deep sigh (apparently, she wasn't offended – she was even smirking a little) and pointed to himself, "I have thought about it, and really, "no" is the only answer for me."

"Really?" she leaned in and tried to read the expression on his face, but the restaurant was too dimly lit. She'd always thought he'd make an excellent father. "Why?"

"You've met my father…."

She leaned back into the booth, "He likes me," she teased, "So, that can't be your argument."

"That's right," Logan laughed, "He _does_ like you. How could he not?"

Rory rolled her eyes at this maybe-kind-of-compliment, but Logan didn't expand on his reasons not wanting to be a father. Instead, he let out another sigh. "It's not like I have a choice, I'm expected to father at least one legitimate child."

"No limit on the illegitimate ones?"

"Nope, as long as they remain dark family secrets."

"Oh, well, in that case…" she gestured vaguely, " as long you ensure a heir."

He ran his finger along the rim of his ice-tea glass. "Yep."

She took a sip of her drink. "Ugh. That's depressing."

"So, then, let's talk about something nice. Anything but celebrity couples, that is." And he winked and suddenly, she was so thirsty and had to take a very un-lady like gulp of tea, but her eyes remained on him as he thought of a suitable conversation topic.

They knew each other – they'd even lived together – so there was no point in covering the typical First Date Topics (even though, technically this wasn't a date. But, he didn't want to discuss heavier things. They would have enough time to discuss the various missteps in their complication relationship, and he really needed to steer clear of topics like babies (he could kick himself for turning celebrity babies into the possibility of 'their' babies!) Even a clichéd question in a clichéd movie-star voice like "what are your hopes and dreams?" was no good. Besides, he knew her hopes and dreams and he was pretty sure she knew his.

At last, he raised his index finger, much like he did when he was her professor standing in that classroom in London, "Tonight's movie. Matt Damon."

"Oh, a definite yay," Rory interjected with a flirtatious smile. "That hair, those eyes. That perfect Jason Bourne body. How could you not just melt?"

Logan let out a loud laugh. "Really, the perfect Jason Bourne body?"

"Actually," she said, her eyes going first to his perfect rustled coupe and then resting on his eyes, "the hair and the eyes. It's my thing."

A twisted grin formed on his face and he nodded approvingly. "But, really, Miss Gilmore, I was driving at the movie's theme: do we choose our fate or is it thrust upon us?"

At that moment, their server arrived with 4 plates topped with giant cheeseburgers and an enormous mound of French fries.

"Oh, wow!" Aubrey clapped excitedly, "now this is a burger!" And she watched curiously as the server put a bottle of Heinz vinegar in front of Finn.

"What's that?"

"Oh," Rory interjected before Finn could speak, "he puts vinegar on his fries."

"It's a British thing, Ace," Logan said, grabbing the bottle from Finn, "and besides, don't talk about weird French fry dippers, you put mayonnaise on your fries!"

She looked down at the 5 ramekins of Hellman's on her plate and took a fry and dipped it in, before popping it into her mouth. "It's delicious," she announced and then dipped in another fry and handed it to Logan. "Try it."

He scrunched up his nose in disgust, and she tired again, waving the mayo-fry in front of him. "Oh come on!"

This time, he relented, but instead of taking the fry, he leaned in – those flirtatious eyes testing her – and bit the mayonnaise covered fry right out of her hand.

The three of them looked at Logan while he chewed, and laughed when he concluded it was indeed delicious.

"You've never had vinegar on your fries, love?" Finn asked Aubrey. She shook her head. "Just ketchup. And sometimes brown gravy."

"Oh," Finn ran his tongue across his lips, "gravy and fries. Almost as good as vinegar and fries." And then he held up the bottle, "Do you want to try?"

She nodded and he delicately sprinkled some over her plate. After they had all commented on how good the burgers tasted, the conversation fell back into where it was.

"So," Rory said, between chews, "this burger has an excellent meat to veggie ratio."

"I'm glad," Logan grinned playfully, "I know you find these things important."

"Extremely," she agreed in mock-seriousness. "It must be fate."

"Ah, yes! Fate: do we choose our destiny or is it planned out?" he said, using a voice that sounded very much like a debate host.

Rory laughed, and took a vinegar-drenched fry from his plate, "I see school is back in session, Mr. Huntzberger."

"You were a good student."

"I suppose," she said, with a hint of regret in her voice. " I think…" she chewed her burger as she mulled over Logan's question and he waited patiently for her to answer. Somewhere, she heard Finn and Aubrey discussing the latest episode of Glee, but she honestly couldn't tell if they were next to her or tables away. Right now, it was like only she and Logan existed.

"I always used to think that it was a determined destiny. I was born into the Gilmore family, had certain responsibilities, had to live up to a certain name. Of course, I didn't – "

Logan wanted to interject, but he stopped himself.

"- and the things I did…I guess it was easy to think that I couldn't really be held accountable for them, you know? Things happened, _because they were supposed to,_ so it wasn't my fault."

While Rory took a sip of her tea, he nodded that he understood. "But now, I don't know…I wasn't forced to do those things. But still. There must be some kind of plan, you know? Why did I run into you on that plane?"

"The private jets were booked, Ace," Logan said rationally, but Rory dismissed it with a wave. "And again at grandpa's funeral, and then at the HPG offices, and now, again, in New York."

Mitchum. It was all Mitchum, Logan thought and Rory caught the look in his eye. "Even if Mitchum orchestrated it all – it's still you."

"Me?"

"I can't get away from you."

Logan knew exactly where she was coming from (how many nights had his TV randomly gone to ANTM? How hard had it tried to view her through a sister-lens, how often did she come crashing through his mind at the most inopportune times? ) and then furrowed his brows. "Do you want to?"

"No," she said without thinking and then blushed wildly in embarrassment. Logan's lips curled into a sweet smile, and he casually took another fry off her plate – his hand accidently-on-purpose brushing over hers.

"So, what you're saying is that fate has things lined up, but we get to choose what we do with them?" he asked softly.

Rory thought about this for a second and then nodded – that's exactly what she was trying to say. How come he always knew what she was trying to say?

"Yeah."

It was an intense and heavy moment between them. It was like they had reached some silent understanding. He didn't mean to push her, to have such philosophical discussions with her in some non-descript restaurant in NYC, but she opened up to him voluntarily. It was kind of nice to see this softer, more fragile side of Rory Gilmore. She was definitely not the bug-eyed glasses wearing girl he'd met all those months ago.

Aubrey and Finn's laughter brought some release, and Rory and Logan joined in their conversation about Dance Dance Revolution. Apparently, Aubrey was some kind of superstar and Finn did not believe she had a score higher than his. A dance, dance duel would have to happen eventually.

On their way to the movie theatre, Logan's hand slipped into Rory's. She looked at him, and he was about to let go, thinking he'd maybe crossed a line, but she granted him a reassuring smile and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Oh, she was trying so hard not to get caught up, but how could she not? Everything was just so damn perfect.

At the movies, the girls were seated in the middle, with Finn next to Aubrey, and Logan next to Rory. The boys did all the things they were supposed to: buying giants tubs of buttered popcorn, liter-size soft drinks (Seven-Ups for Aubrey and Finn, an iced tea for Rory, and a Coke for Logan), and going back for more chocolate covered raisons and gummy bears.

Once the guys were gone, Rory turned to Aubrey. "Pep-talk?"

"I think he likes me," Aubrey confessed and a funny smile played at Rory's lips. "Of course he does."

"But, like, everything about me, all my shows, my music, he laughed at silly stories about Daddy, " Aubrey said seriously, "I even got ketchup on his shirt and he didn't mind."

Rory was confused. "When did the ketchup thing happen?"

"Um. At dinner," Aubrey gesticulated frantically, "You and Logan were really caught up in your talk you didn't even notice!"

Rory's eyes grew wide. "Oh."

"Yeah." Aubrey nodded, "but that's good, right? Really good." She couldn't help letting out a girlish squeal at all of tonight's excitement and Rory joined her. The two of them shared a laugh and shot the guys "don't-ask" looks upon their return.

She was pleased that everything seemed to be going well between Aubrey and Finn. Aubrey didn't need her to chaperone (let's face it, she'd been a pretty bad one up to now, anyway).

"I'm glad I came tonight," Rory said softly, but to no one in particularly. A moment later, Logan's arm was wrapped around her shoulder. She didn't need to look up to know he was beaming like her.

Half-way through the movie, Finn employed the classic 'yawn-to-shoulder-hug' move and Aubrey gingerly rested her head on Finn's chest.

* * *

As the credits rolled, the four of them exited the theatre and came to a halt in the lobby. It was a little awkward, because neither Finn, nor Logan had decided how to proceed beyond this moment. In fact, both of them were a little surprised they'd made it this far.

"Ice cream," Aubrey's voice broke the silence, "Do you guys want some ice cream?" It was clear that she was asking Finn, and Finn alone.

Rory grinned a little, proud of Aubrey for being so bold. "Actually, I could go for a coffee," she said and Aubrey gave her a meaningful, grateful look.

Of course, most ice cream parlors served coffee, but that wasn't the point. "Have you been to Joe Beans?" Logan asked.

"No," Rory shook her head and laughed a little, "You have? I thought you didn't like coffee?"

"They have an amazing selection of herbal tea," Logan replied in lighthearted tone, before tipping his head toward the door, in a let's-get-out-of-here move.

Aubrey and Finn were so distracted by their discussion about the construction of a perfect banana split, they barely managed to wave goodbye to Rory and Logan.

* * *

As the pair made their way out of the theater and onto the humid New York streets, the mood changed again. It was a little more tense before, and despite it not having rained, there was a glow on the pavement.

Her hand felt small in his, but it felt comfortable, trusted, as he lead her through the streets. She wished she'd worn heels so the clacking on the sidewalk would drown out the silence between them.

"This place claims to have the best coffee in town," Logan said finally, "I'm surprised you didn't know about it."

"I'm surprised you did! Considering you don't like the stuff," Rory teased.

"But I like you." Logan stopped and groaned a little. "That was really cheesy, wasn't it?"

Rory bit down on her lip and nodded. "It'll cost you points," she joked, but it wasn't mean-spirited. She liked that he seemed just a little less composed that he usually was.

He laughed happily and she looked up at the dark night sky, kind of wishing it would rain. It was unusually humid and warm for the time of night. Rory couldn't tell if the thin film of sweat on her palms were caused by the weather or Logan, but it was increasingly uncomfortable.

"You know," Logan started talking again, "Finn bought a new Nespresso machine. You could have some coffee at my place?"

Her left eyebrow shot up in surprise, "And have you miss out on the awesome selection of Joe Beans' herbal teas?"

"It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make," he said and made a sharp left down the street. His pace quickened considerably and Rory really couldn't think. Her mind cautioned that this was maybe a bad idea, but even if he let go of her hand, she'd follow him.

Of course, he didn't let go of her hand, not during the 4-block walk, not during the elevator ride up to the penthouse, not even when he fished his keys out of his pocket. They didn't speak, neither could come up with a topic that would justify talking.

This New York apartment was much like his apartment in London; the same low-to-the-ground ergonomically designed furniture, the same bachelor pad mood. The kitchen was slightly smaller, but still had a breakfast bar and a spacious counter, on which a bright red espresso machine stood.

"Finn calls it The Beast," Logan said as he started making her coffee. He didn't have to ask how she liked it, he already knew. The sweet smell of coffee filled the room, and she found it incredibly sexy how he maneuvered around the kitchen; he boiled water for his tea, found a tea bag from the drawer on the left and took two mugs from the cupboard.

"It's impressive," Rory said after a while, and Logan gave her a vaguely confused look. "The Beast, I mean."

"Ah, right," he said, before handing her the cup of steaming coffee. He kept his eyes on her as she took a small sip, immediately followed by a larger gulp. Rory let out a satisfied sigh.

"Good?" he asked in a soft voice. He was very close to her now, she had to twist her head up to look at him. His hand moved to her lip, and he brushed some milk foam from the corner of her mouth.

"Oh," she said breathlessly, and she didn't speak when he took her half-empty cup and placed it on the counter, and she her heartbeat in her ears.

Logan's soft fingers brushed the long of her neck, before he laid his full palm against the back of it, gently pulling her up towards him. She responded immediately to his touch; her head cocked up in anticipation and she moistened her lips. His head bent forward to meet hers and she saw the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face before he kissed her long and slow.

That first kiss was really something. It wasn't shy, or sweet; too much had happened for them to pretend. There was no subtle blush, questioning glances, waiting for lips to part. It was almost familiar, like they had shared a million kisses between them before, and yet it was exciting and new. But most of all, it was lusty and needy. They had both been waiting for this moment for a long time and now that it was happening, the release was immense.

Her hands wrapped behind his neck, his cupped her ass, pushing her body against his. Logan was a good kisser, his soft, lush lips against hers was magic. She'd never tasted anything like it before. For a brief moment, she wondered if he'd like her cherry gloss or if he lips now tasted like coffee, but that thought left her as soon as it bubbled up.

Right now, all that mattered was that she was here, in Logan's kitchen, kissing him.

Eventually, they needed to catch their breath and Logan broke it off. "I've been meaning to do that for a while," he told her, his voice all raspy. Rory smacked her lips together a few times, savoring the taste, and couldn't quite meet his gaze as she spoke, "I've been waiting."

He playfully shook his head at her comment, before pulling her close again. "I thought you were the proactive type? Take the bull by the horns...?"

She looked up, smiling at his wicked grin, too distracted by his hot breath on her neck to come up with a witty comeback. Instead, she just nodded and kissed him again. This time, their session ended with her positioned on the kitchen counter, her legs wrapped around Logan's waist and her eyes locked to his. She silently challenged him to go on.

Rory was curious how far he would take it and he was curious to see how far he could go. She squeezed her legs around him, and nodded open-mouthed, letting him know it was okay.

Slowly, his hands dropped from her neck and he dragged them across her arms and her thighs, sending a wave of electricity through her body, before he ran his hands back up her thighs and stopped at the hem of her heather-gray T. He used just one finger to trace the hem, running it back and forth a couple of times.

Teasing her, yes, but also trying to consider the impact his would have. Because he wanted to do this right. Be a gentleman. Treat her right. With respect. This had to be different from all of the other times he had a girl propped up on his kitchen counter.

But it was no use.

She was here, in front of him. With those big, but not-so-innocent eyes. The ability to think rationally was gone. Logan could practically hear her begging - she wanted this as much as he did. Fuck it. He used both hands to lift her shirt and she raised her arms, so he could pull it off. It fell to the ground, next the bar stools that had somehow fell to the floor.

Rory couldn't help but laugh at Logan's expression. Since tonight wasn't supposed to be a date, she hadn't cared about wearing anything particularly sexy. It was just a simple white-lace triangle bra. There was no va-va-voom push-up, no sexy little things, no secrets.

"So, how many points?" His head dropped to his chest. Rory could kick herself for saying that, for ruining this moment by referring to something so crass as their little game. She didn't want him to think that's what this is to her. He looked up and gave her another one of those world-rocking looks.

"As many as you want, Ace." His eyes turned a darker shade of brown and he pulled her towards him once more. She tugged at the collar of his blue polo, and he laughed at her eagerness.

"That won't work out," he told her and he demonstrated by trying to pull his shirt over his head from the collar. "My head's too big."

She heard a potentially dirty comeback in there somewhere, but before she could speak, he removed his shirt, revealing his broad chest and muscled stomach for the first time.

"I see," Logan said casually, "that you like what you see."

"Remember what I said about Jason Bourne?"

"Yeah…?"

"Forget about it." A deep, appreciative laughter rumbled inside of him and Rory going to kiss him, but accidentally nipped his lip.

"You bit me!"

"No, I was going to kiss you!" she started, gesturing wildly, "but you started talking!"

"You were going to kiss me?" he repeated and she could see his breathing intensify.

She nodded coyly, "I was." Rory placed his hands on his hips, pulling him closer. "Right now."

As they kissed, she brushed her hands through his hair, and his hands roamed freely across her back. It was as if all of the warmth in his body and hers pooled together in the pit of her stomach. It was interesting and she'd never experienced something quite like it before.

"This must not be very comfortable for you?" Logan asked her after what seemed like a lifetime of making out. Honestly, it didn't matter. She would sit on that countertop forever, but he instructed her to put her arms around his neck, and he lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom.

He laid her down on the bed and as she gazed up from the soft comforter and sea of pillows, it was clear that the mood changed again. His eyes were now almost black, and she was sure that the lust in her eyes was clear.

He gently let himself fall on top of her and continued his kissing – lips, arms, chest, stomach, his lips had touched every inch of visible skin. The heat in her stomach was back and it seemed to radiate through her body, before returning to the pit of her stomach even stronger than it was before. She'd never felt this much before. It was almost too much; all of her nerve endings were on fire, tiny surges of electricity went through her at his touches.

In the short breaths of air between kissing, their eyes met, and they smiled lovingly at each other. All concept of time was gone. It was just the two of them, in some bedroom in some New York apartment. Just being. It was a kind of trance she couldn't ever achieve with alcohol and techno music.

This was so different from the hundreds of drunken nights she'd spent with guys. With them, alcohol aided the seduction and numbed everything else. Though nights were blurred together - it meant nothing. Tonight, every sense was heightened, she wanted to capture this feeling, and wanted it to last forever.

At one point, she caught his gaze and nodded. Logan wasted no time in undoing the button of those True Religion jeans and they wiggled off. His hand went to the elastic of her panties and her hips involuntarily bucked at his touch. Rory's eyes closed and she focused on the moment.

The odd feeling of a foreign familiarity came over her. Obviously, she'd lain with many men in this position, but this sensation was completely new.

The thump, thump, thump of her heart beat through her body and the heat burned inside of her and Logan's gorgeous eyes burned in her skull, until she couldn't take it anymore. Her breathing was ragged and shallow and all she needed to do was let go. And because it was him, she did. Completely.

* * *

She felt Logan's head on her chest, but Rory kept her eyes closed until her breathing evened out. Even with her bra and panties still on, she felt naked when he looked up at her. A deep blush flooded her face and she swallowed, a little unsure of what to say now.

"Um. That was nice," she whispered. "Really, really, nice."

A crooked little smile played at Logan's lips. "Yeah."

"So..." she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and he kissed her stomach, making her laugh. He stayed put, though, making it hard for her to move. "Logan," she ran a hand through his hair, "what are you doing?"

"Listening to your heartbeat…It's fast."

"Women's hearts beat faster than men's," she quipped, and then turned more serious. "It's your turn. " It was only right and, she had to admit, if he could do all of that with just his hand, she needed to find out more.

"Ah," he shot her a sheepish grin, "but I've had my turn."

She propped herself up on her elbows and gave him a curious look. "How? I didn't..."

"Apparently," he laughed, not at all embarrassed, "you did enough."

She gave him a blank stare, before she realized what he was implying. "Oooh. Um. Wow. I'm... sor-sorry?" A nervous giggle escaped her. This whole night, this whole situation was just so bizarre and Logan laughed, too. And it made her feel a whole lot better about how she reacted to his touch.

"No need to apologize, Ace. This was a year in the making...that's a long time for any guy. Frankly, I'm surprised I lasted as long as I did." And as he realized what he said, he gave her a pointed look, "Obviously, next time will be better. A lot better."

She grinned stupidly at his promise and the thought of next time. And then she threw her head back in outright laughter. "I'm sorry, Logan. It's just... " she waited for the laughs to subside, "why did we wait so long?"

Oh, there were reasons, plenty of them. But it didn't seem important any more. He shrugged, "We're crazy."

"Crazy," Rory agreed with a serious nod. Their eyes met again and the tension between them rose again. It was different, more intimate, less urgent and lusty; this was sweet, a couple-moment.

"I..." his voice wavered and he averted his gaze. "...am going to need to take a shower. By myself, before you get any funny ideas" he added with a grin.

"Well, I see," Rory smiled a devilish smile.

He pointed at his dresser. "You can take a t-shirt and some boxers from there, if you want. "And he handed her the remote for the TV, "and watch some Top Model or something?"

She nodded and smiled into his quick kiss. She politely turned away as he slid off the bed and walked into the shower. Rory waited until she heard the water running to get out of bed. She sauntered over to his dresser, noting how nice the plush carpet felt on her feet, before opening his drawer. It smelled like him, all musky and clean at the same time.

Rory selected a plain white T and a pair of checkered boxers. She changed and left her clothes - jeans still in a ball - in a pile on the floor, before she crawled into bed and turned on the TV and started to flip through the channels.

She really wanted to think. To understand how she went from giving him the cold shoulder, to having his mark on her shoulder, but she couldn't think. She was happy and relaxed, something she hadn't felt in a long time. Honestly, she didn't know how it could get better than this.

* * *

**And? What did you think? That's basically all I want to know! I know it's maybe a little odd to have them so "together" now, with so much unresolved drama and I know I didn't spend too much time on Aubrey and Finn, but I kind of wanted this to be about Rory and Logan. They can be so comfortable and so awkward and so easy and so difficult at the same time, so I really hope I did this justice.  
**

**Next chapter is planned, and then we'll start tying up the loose ends. **


	30. Round Thirty: Midnight Thoughts

**I started this about a month ago and started and stopped a million times. The rest came to me in a sun-kissed vision and I scribbled it poolside on a gorgeous Floridian day. I just thought it would be longer.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own GG.  
**

* * *

As Logan let the lukewarm water run over his body, he tried to make sense of what happened tonight. Six hours ago, Rory could barely stand to look at him, and now she was curled up in his bed, wearing one of his T-shirts.

It had taken every bit of strength to decline Rory's offer, but something stopped him and he usually wasn't the type to stop. Of course, those other girls were quick, meaningless, nameless, encounters. And with her nothing was ever meaningless. He smirked to himself a little - he'd fantasized about this moment before. He'd let himself buy into this whole tween-girl fantasy of the dizzy-silly-rainbows-and-butterflies idea of L-O-V-E. It would've been in Nice, they would've laughed and talked over lobster tails and a good glass of wine, not burgers and ice-teas.

Then, they would've strolled hand-in-hand. Rory would be wearing a gorgeous designer creation, and he'd tell her that she was beautiful. Always. But tonight especially. And then, a moment might present it self, and he'd lean forward to kiss her. Perfect. They might get a little lost in the moment, and he'd suggest (as much as he hated it) to slow down, do this right.

He laughed at himself, at this romantic comedy scene that scripted itself in his mind. If life had taught him anything, it was that life was not like the movies. There was no right way to love. And what happened tonight felt very right. Maybe they'd gone a little too far, maybe they should have talked more, but he was convinced there would be plenty of time to talk, to date, to build up all the things he wanted.

The fact that they kissed - He didn't even know why he did it. It just happened. Her standing there, with that coffee foam on her lip begging to be touched. A quick brush with his finger tips, and their mouths collided. A blissful blur.

At one point tonight he almost said those 3 little words, but he stopped himself in time (too much! too soon!) He hadn't even thought about it until the words practically flew out of his mouth. He wondered if that what love was - something so weird and foreign and comfortable at the same time that it just bubbled up inside and needed to be released. He just never realized he was capable of feeling that much for anyone. Now that this thing between them had been dragged out for so long, he didn't want that idea just to go away. After so long, he wanted to them to have their hot-pink Hollywood ending, dammit. That kind of helped drown out the other stuff (Mitchum! Emily! HPG!) that floated somewhere in the back of his mind.

He toweled off, slipped on a clean pair of boxers and tossed the dirtied ones in the hamper. Logan sauntered into the bedroom. "Hey Rory?" he said, and heard Tyra Banks explain who was still in the running to become America's Next Top Model, but Rory's mocking run-on commentary was noticeably absent. She was fast asleep, the covers pulled up high under her chin, her grip on the remote control slack.

A goofy smile played at his lips and he scooped up her clothes, threw 'm in the wash next to his. Then, he clicked off the TV and crawled up next to her. He was careful not to wake her, but she responded instantly to his presence. Her leg brushed up against his, her back flush against his stomach. He pressed a tender kiss in her raspberry-vanilla-scented hair, his arm dropping down to her waist, and his chin resting on her shoulder.

* * *

Some unconscious thought abruptly yanked her from her sleep. She was disoriented, feeling a slight buzz. A foreign male hand wrapped around her waist tightly (but strangely, not suffocating) registered first and then her mind did the oh-so-familiar check-list. She must have been drunk, this must be A Random Guy's house, she probably slept with him... and then full realization hit.

That hand belonged to Logan. And she wasn't drunk, at most she suffered a sugar high from one too many sweat-teas. And she didn't sleep with him (although her body still tingled). He kissed her though and her hand went to her lips, just to make sure. She basked in this peaceful glow, waiting for sleep to return to her once more, but it was long enough to make her thoughts run wild...

One date - not even official - and she was curled up in Logan's bed! Hadn't she changed? She stopped doing things like this, hadn't she? She didn't want to be "that" girl anymore. She'd been "that" girl, and "that" girl broke his heart (and hers, too). He didn't want "that" girl.

Oh good god.

What if, in the end, that's all that this came down to? To bed her, one more notch on his crowded bedpost. Of course, she'd get a special honor 'The Most Difficult Quest'.

Or maybe, this was a test...She should've said no, or gone home after the kiss or something. Oh sure, in the moment, with him handing her perfectly brewed coffee and his stupid eyes piercing her soul, yeah, she couldn't resist. But she should have, to show him that she had changed, that she took this and him seriously.

He declined her offer. She failed. Her mind leaped to tomorrow: he'd tell her that it had been nice and all, but that it was time for her to go home. He'd mention something vague about keeping it professional at work, he was going back to London soon anyway so the awkwardness wouldn't last long.

Oh, it was so like her to fuck this up before it even started. And this was something they couldn't go back from. She'd let herself come undone in front of him - he did that to her - she could never look him in the face again, if this turned out to be a joke. She'd be too embarrassed.

Oh! And Mitchum! What would he say? What would he do? And her mother! And Emily! How mad would Mitchum be? Just disappointed, but that was worse. Maybe he'd send her back to Emily and the DAR. He'd be mad at Logan, for sure. Maybe if she talked to him before he got a chance, perhaps if she could just explain it was her fault, Mitchum would just gloss over this whole episode.

Suddenly, his arm felt like a ton of bricks pinning her to the bed and she couldn't breathe and she needed to get out.

Now.

She carefully released herself from his grip and found her jeans in a ball on the floor. In the darkness, the rest of her clothes were lost. It didn't matter. Rory changed quickly and tip-toed out of the bedroom and almost yelled as she entered the living room.

* * *

Finn was wide awake, glued to his laptop at the kitchen counter. "Good god, love!" he whispered, "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"You?" she hissed back, "what about me?"

"What..." he started to speak, but paused to give her a quick once over. She looked almost apologetic - his brows furrowed as he saw she was gripping her purse in one hand and her scuffed black flats in the other. "I know how this looks, Finn, but it's not like that."

"It sure looks like a getaway," Finn spat, his otherwise friendly eyes turning dark.

"I just…" Rory looked around helplessly, "I messed up, Finn. I shouldn't have…and I, I wanted this to be different. I'm not that girl anymore."

Finn raised his eyes in disbelief. "Surely, love, you realize that this is nothing like those other times? Just the fact that you're standing here worrying about the fact that you've slept with Logan on the first date proves that you aren't that girl…"

"It wasn't a date, and we didn't sleep together."

Finn shot her a curious look. "We didn't sleep together," she said again, and the look she gave him made it clear that there would be no further sharing.

"Fine," Finn said with a lazy wave, "consider then, if you will, for a moment, the fact that you're referring to what _didn't _happen as "sleeping together", not as "fucking", which was, as I recall, your preferred term."

A tense kind of silence passed between them as Rory contemplated what Finn was saying.

Finally, figuring that Rory didn't have a counter argument, he broke the quiet. "So why don't you just go back to bed?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "I've got to see Mitchum. Before he finds out. Before…before he can get to Logan. I want him to hear it from me."

Finn may not have understood why it was so important to tell Mitchum, but he dutifully called her a car. He was glad his relationship wasn't as complicated. In fact, it was quite simple: he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Aubrey.

* * *

She'd been in this kitchen countless times. Most of them were insignificant, meaningless moments: sneaking off for a bottle of red or champagne or Stoli at a party. Sometimes, as a teen, she snuck in her at a boring dinner to practice her Spanish with the kitchen staff. And that kitchen door proved an excellent escape.

She stood here, not too long ago, with a case of Coca-Cola with a note taped to the top. Mitchum had been curious, but didn't pry. And now, here she was again. Sitting on a stool, scooted up to the marble counter, her hands wrapped around a hot mug of much-needed coffee. Rosa – the current maid – added a little vanilla sugar and cinnamon (she must've looked like she needed it).

It was creeping towards 5:30 and soon Mitchum would walk downstairs for his morning can of soda.

Ugh. Was she crazy for coming here? She'd much prefer to be curled up next to Logan, sipping his expertly made coffee, but she knew she wouldn't feel okay until she told Mitchum.

It wasn't about getting his approval, but understanding his MO. She knew he had cut some kind of deal with Logan and she didn't want this to jeopardize that.

She was so deep in thought that she didn't even hear Mitchum making his way into the kitchen.

"Jesus, Rory! You nearly gave me a heart attack! What are you doing here?"

"Having coffee," she replied lamely, with a gesture at her mug.

Unimpressed, he popped the top of his soda, and took a long, satisfying swig. All the while, he eyes remained on her, forcing the words out of her.

"You know Logan?" she asked, hoping it would sound somewhat casual, completely ignoring the fact that nothing about this (them) was casual.

"My son," Mitchum deadpanned.

"Yeah…Um. Well. We…we…um…we…"

"Slept together," Mitchum supplied, cutting right to the chase. His voice, Rory noted, didn't sound mad or accusatory, rather oddly hopeful.

"Well, no," Rory shook her head, sighing deeply, "but, I guess we went on a date."

"A date?" Mitchum smiled at the notion of his son – the Lothario of London – and Rory – the easiest girl on the East Coast – enjoying something so deliciously quaint as a date.

"I gather it went well," he said knowingly. "And you're here to see if I've got any evilness tucked up my sleeve."

Rory shrugged as Mitchum carried on. "You like him. Possibly more than anyone you've ever liked, and perhaps you're regretting past transgressions – worried that this will end like those."

"You know me well," Rory smiled.

"I know people. And however complicated my relationship with Logan might be, I know him too. And I know that he likes you back. For a long time."

Rory eyes popped open in surprise. Mitchum _knew_? He_ really_ knew. And he wasn't mad! "Then what about the rules?"

"Rory," Mitchum dropped his head slightly. "Richard always wanted you to go to FTF, I was against it – like I said, I know my son – but when he passed and you needed something to regain focus, this seemed like what you needed. The rules were initiated for your protection. Of course, at the time, I didn't know that coincidence landed you and Logan on that same transatlantic flight or that you shared another chance meeting at the wake. But I saw Logan change and your results soar and I wondered…" Mitchum paused for a moment, a thoughtful smile capturing his face, "Richard, of course, had always suspected something like this would happen, you know, finally bringing the Gilmores & the Huntzbergers together in a way no business deal could. I thought he was an old fool."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Rory asked, "Or Logan – he was so concerned about those stupid rules!"

"Exactly," Mitchum nodded, "Him avoiding you and wanting to do right by me of all people confirmed what I expected…"

"That he likes me?" Rory asked with an eyebrow raised suspiciously.

"He hasn't been with anyone since FTF. I've drawn my conclusions," Mitchum said.

Rory barely managed a nod and said quietly. "Telling him would've saved _us _a lot of heartache."

It was the closest she'd ever come to accusing Mitchum of something. And a tiny bit of fire burned as Mitchum didn't offer any apologies. "What doesn't kill you…"

Too tired to argue about what Mitchum _should have _done, she just shrugged. "So, now what?"

"You go back to New York, see Logan. Or not," Mitchum suggested, "Stay for breakfast or hell, invite Logan down for dinner! We'll have a barbecue."

Rory rolled her eyes. "I meant...between you and Logan? The deal? Releasing him from his contract?"

"Ah. That."

"That." Rory said again, her tone a little more firm this time.

"Actually I'm thinking about getting into the music industry."

Rory's eyes grew wide and that tiny flamed burned strong. It was an offer Logan could refuse, legally, but he wouldn't. She knew he wouldn't and Mitchum knew that, too. Her stomach dropped a little – this was that manipulative, cunning side of Mitchum Logan loathed so much. They'd been played. The both of them! All of them. Her own grandfather, even, tried to make a Huntzberger-Gilmore connection and once Mitchum realized that once Logan had Rory, he'd never leave HPG, Mitchum did everything in his power to get them together.

Why hadn't she seen it before? And how could she have let herself be a pawn in his game?

"Why now? He's wanted that for years!" Rory spat, surprised at the anger that rose in her voice.

Mitchum shrugged innocently. "HPG doesn't have any market presence, so it'll be an exciting step for us. And the job was always meant to go to Logan, I was just waiting for him to be ready for it."

"What makes you think he's ready now?"

He kept his eyes on her and tilted his head a tiny bit forward.

"Me?"

"Every good man needs an even better woman, and I can't think of anyone better than you, Rory."

His words swirled in her mind – she was touched, but still angry and it seemed like too much, too soon. They barely managed one date! Mitchum was worse than Emily. Forget the freaking wedding, here's a business venture. Best of luck (!) What she needed now, more than anything, was a cup of coffee. And it had to be one brewed by Logan.

"I have to go," Rory announced, scooting off the bar stool.

"Tell Logan I want to see him Monday first thing. To discuss things."

* * *

The car made its way through early morning traffic to New York. Rory saw that she had 17 missed calls. Seven were from Finn, 9 were from Logan, and 1 was from Aubrey, who like Rory, had a life changing, world-rocking night.

She really needed to have a long chat with Logan, but the backseat of a car wasn't the place to have that conversation. Instead she shot off a quick text telling him that everything was alright, that last night was amazing and that she'd be home soon and to tell Finn not to worry. Then, she made herself comfortable on the soft leather seat of the town car and hit speed dial 7 on her phone. Aubrey picked up after 2 rings.

"Rory!"

"Hey A," Rory smiled into the phone, "I'm returning your call."

"Finally! How was everything at Mitchum's?" she asked eagerly.

A laugh escaped her. "You've spoken to Finn? You called him right? You weren't at the house?"

"Oh sugar, please," she drawled in her sweet Southern tone. "I went home like the goody-goody girl that I am." She paused, and her tone dropped. "He kissed my hand, then my cheek, and then my lips. It was very…sweet."

"That sounds great."

"It was."

"So…it went well?" she asked, "Considering that you've already talked to him and all?"

"Well…he told me to call if…" Aubrey trailed off and Rory heard the little twinge of embarrassment

"You freaked?"

Aubrey sighed heavily. "I just…I really like him. And I wanted to tell him, just in case he didn't like me back."

Rory had to admire Aubrey's bravery. "What'd he say?"

"He was totally unfazed. Maybe even a little relieved. I don't know…" Aubrey sighed again. "Anyway, he was glad I called. And then he asked if I'd ever had Cesar Salad at Café Bistro."

"A lunch date, huh?" Rory chuckled and Aubrey squealed back excitedly. The girls spent the rest of the ride re-hashing details of last night, which they quickly renamed "Best Non-Dates Ever."

**So, as you can probably tell, I'm winding this down (it's about time, right?) What's left is a Logan/Rory talk about the above, probably a Logan/Mitchum confrontation and maybe some fluff. A Gilmore/Huntzberger/Rory/Logan meal or a double date. And don't worry about Aubrey and Finn. They are golden. **

**I know I've gotten so bad at this and I'm embarrassed but I try. ****Thanks for reading and reviewing, always.**  



	31. Round Thirty One: Daytime Talks

**i suppose it's not much, but it feels like a million words after a lifetime of not updating.  
i've missed this.  
**

**thanks for sticking with me in the meantime.  
i've read every review and pm and urge to update. they make me smile.  
**

**disclaimer: i do not own gg  
**

* * *

The knock on the door was so soft, she wondered if he'd heard it. Just as she was about to knock again, he opened the door. His navy blue Yale sweats hung low on his waist, a white T-shirt pulled lazily over his chest. Hair ruffled, dark-blue circles under his eyes.

"Hey", he said softly, and gestured for her to come in. She'd almost wanted him to look mad or yell at her for taking off in the middle of the night. At least then she wouldn't have to feel so guilty looking at the tired, worn-down man that stood before her.

"Hey", she smiled ruefully in return and held up a greasy bag of donuts. "I brought breakfast."

Logan nodded, "I've got coffee."

"Good." And she followed him into the kitchen. "I went to see Mitchum," she said, but he just nodded slowly and started on her coffee. She took a seat at the breakfast bar and proceeded to watch him. She'd watched him many times before in Londen.

Coffee, waffles, lemon chicken and rice...Sitting here should've felt natural, but here, in New York, she felt awkward and out of place. Rory had never allowed herself to think about what "the morning after" would feel like, but she certainly had never imagined it to play out like this.

Logan continued steaming the milk, and Rory watched patiently as he poured a shot of espresso in the cup of milk foam and stirred in 2 sugars. She gratefully took the cup, but didn't drink.

"So, I went to see Mitchum," she said again and he let out a deep sigh. "Finn told me."

She'd kind of expected Finn to divulge, so she smiled and kind of shrugged, like she couldn't help but see Mitchum. Like it wasn't her fault.

"Why Rory?" Logan asked. "What happened last night?" It was clear that he was genuinely confused and wanted to know. Everything seemed so perfect (too perfect?) as he slipped under the covers next to her just a few hours ago.

She took a generous sip of her coffee, allowing her enough time to think about her answer. "I'm sorry, Logan, I just… we went on a date, even though it wasn't a date. And you made me coffee. Really good coffee…" she took another sip, "…and then you kissed me. Just like that, like, you were always supposed to kiss me." She wiped away the little bit of milk foam that clung to her lip before he could.

"You kissed back." His tone was even, but she detected a little bit of panic and a little bit of blame. "I would've stopped…if you were uncomfortable."

"I know," she said quickly, putting her eyes on him, letting him know that she didn't regret the kiss or anything. "I didn't want you to stop," she said and felt a little heat rise in her cheeks. "I just…I didn't expect it. And then I fell asleep. In your bed."

He was oblivious to the weight that statement carried. "I didn't want to wake you up."

And the tenderness in his comment silenced her. He didn't want to wake her up. And suddenly she thought about beautiful, sweet, I-wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve Aubrey. If Aubrey was brave enough to be completely, I'm-freaked-out-by-how-much-I-like-you, honest with Finn, a guy whom she'd barely known 10 days, she sure as hell could (should) be honest with Logan.

"I woke up in the middle of the night and I didn't realize where I was. I thought you were a random guy."

"A random guy?" Logan's eyebrows shot up in a surprise.

"Don't be mad," Rory sighed, but couldn't look at him, didn't want to see how much her comment hurt him. "You aren't some random guy to me, Logan. You are The Guy. And I'd treated you like I would've treated a random guy, while you aren't. I just wanted things to be different, because you deserve different – something better. And I thought I was better."

She didn't see him move around the breakfast bar, moving closer to her. "And as I was lying there, I thought, "maybe I'm not better" and then I thought about Mitchum and Emily and what they'd say, if they found out. Especially Mitchum. I'd figured he'd be mad. Not at me, because he thinks I'm broken, but he'd be mad at you… and…"

"You're not broken," Logan cut through her ramble. She was breathing heavily now, on the verge of tears, and hadn't noticed that his hands were now covering hers. "You're not broken, Rory," he said again, "and I don't care if Mitchum is mad."

Her eyes found their way back to him and he was looking at her in that way again. It was that look that cut straight through her soul, the one that made her knees go weak, the one that made a film of sweat cover her manicured hands, the one that made her heart thump, thump, thump in her throat, and the one that made it feel like 1 million butterflies lived in her stomach. It was a look she hadn't seen this intense since the promise of Nice hung in the air. It was the look that had started this all.

"You should've woken me up, Ace," he said softly, "I want you to wake me up for things like this." With last night and Rory's ramble, everything came to a head and it felt like this was a now-or-never moment for him. He brushed a soft kiss on her lips and she couldn't help but smile into his kiss. "I like that," he said and she giggled a little. "We've been through a lot, huh? We've both been stupid, played games."

She nodded, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," he sighed deeply, "but I'm done playing, Ace. I wanted things to be different for us, too. A real date, just the two of us, and not with Finn and Aubrey. You know, lights in the tress, a movie star kiss. Take things slow, go dancing, kiss your hand…."

"You dance?"

He ignored her quip, shaking his head slowly, "But last night happened and it was great."

She nodded in agreement.

"I need you to know," he said, "that you are not broken. Whatever happened with the Greek guy and the other guys and when you were 16, it doesn't matter. I went out, I partied, I know."

"But…"

"Rory, it doesn't matter. You know how I know? I know that I'm not a random guy to you, because you aren't a random girl to me."

Their eyes locked, her perched on a barstool looking up at him, his fingers interlaced with hers.

"I love you, Logan," she said, the words bubbling up before she had a chance to think about it. Her confession took them both by surprise. She was sure her cheeks were bright pink and she felt queasy. But she wasn't apologizing, she wasn't taking it back. She was being bold, channeling Aubrey, wearing her heart on her sleeve.

"I love you," she said again, as if she was realizing it for the first time, as if that made all of the puzzle pieces in this game click together, "that's why I went to see Mitchum."

He caressed her cheek, before cupping her chin gently and leaning down and kissing her. Long, deep, appreciatively. A special kind of kiss, one reserved especially for a special kind of girl.

"I love you, Ace," he whispered as he pulled away. He looked away almost shyly after saying it, before laughing. "I've never said that to a girl before. Ever." She smiled back, running a hand through his ruffled hair. Regaining he composure, he laughed again, "Of course, no girl I've been with has ever gone to see Mitchum before…"

"Oh well," Rory shrugged playfully, "that explains it then."

"So, what ol' Mitch have to say?"

"Not much, actually," Rory paused, "he invited us to a barbecue."

"A barbecue? Why?"

"Because he's freaking Mitchum."

"What he do?"

Rory saw the fire in Logan's eyes, and wondered if she should really elaborate on her revealing conversation. In the big picture, it didn't really matter, did it? She and Logan were together now. She toyed with the idea for a second, before shaking her head.

"I understand better why you hate Mitchum," she said. "He orchestrated the whole thing, Logan."

"What do you mean?"

"I went to see him, right? Expecting him to be all angry and confused and I don't know, against the whole thing. I wanted him to get mad at me, not you. I didn't want to jeopardize anything you had going at HPG, I know the deal was 10 weeks in New York and then freedom."

"Yeah…" Logan sighed heavily. Now, he wasn't quite sure if he would go back to London. It depended on her, she'd have to be factored in.

"So, I told him that we went on a date."

"And?"

"And?" Rory exclaimed, getting worked up recounting this morning's conversation, "he chuckled, all smug-like, like he knew all along and that he was happy about it. Mitchum just stood there and told me that, basically, you were the love of my life and that you'd never felt like this about a girl before…"

Logan's lips tugged into a small smile, "True." And Rory blushed, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"The Rules were a test for you, Logan!", she yelled, scooting off her barstool. "That you adhered to them was confirmation enough for Mitchum, he says I changed you. Said Grandpa knew that you and I were destined and that it was better than any business deal. And that he's looking to get into the music industry now. That you've shown you deserve it."

She looked at him hard, waiting for him to join in her anger. Instead, he reached out for her, stopped her pacing, and enveloped her in a strong hug.

"Call Mitchum," Logan said, "Tell him we'll be there at 4:30 for a little barbecue. Tell him to invite Emily, too, and your parents."

She pulled away, a confused look on her face. "What?"

Why wasn't he mad? Why wasn't he stomping and pacing and shouting expletives? How could he be so calm after being a pawn in Mitchum's game?

"Ace," Logan sighed, "It's Mitchum, it's what he does best. Telling me, telling us, could've saved a lot of heartache…"

"That's what I said!"

"…but it doesn't matter. We made it. Mitchum makes you fight, he'd never just give me anything, not something important anyway."

"So you'll stay with HPG? You'll take him up on his offer?"

Logan shot her a wicked smile. "I didn't say that. I'll be released from my contract in 10 weeks. Legally I'll be free as a bird."

"But…"

"But," he sighed heavily, "Mitchum doesn't give up without a fight."

"So?" Rory's eyes went wide, not being able to follow Logan's train of thought. "Why are we going to the barbecue?"

"Mitchum is still my Dad," Logan smiled, "I'd like him to meet my first real girlfriend. Plus, he might as well invite the whole family over – Emily, your parents – we can get the whole awkward, we're-a-couple-now thing out of the way."

Rory shot him a megawatt smile.

"What?" he laughed, brushing her cheek softly, trying to bite back his own smile. "We're a couple now," she repeated slowly, savoring each word as she said it, before standing on her tippy toes and kissing him.

They stayed like that for a little while, caught up in their own little world. Far away from London, from Nice, from what should have been or could have been. They were just focused on now. Standing in his kitchen – her coffee had gone cold long ago, the donuts still greasy in the bag, forgotten on the counter – kissing like they could just stay there forever.

After a while, pulled away and smirked. "That we are, my dear Ace, that we are."

* * *

**So, considering my track record with updating...I'm thinking that the barbecue will be the final chapter. Perhaps an epilogue. Thoughts? **


End file.
